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'^^^Dl-eafrti^  of  the  World  Beyond  her  Valley"      Sec  page  j 


THE 

CHARLATANS 


By 
BERT  LESTON  TAYLOR 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

GEORGE  BREHM 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYMGHT    1906 

The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 
October 


Press  of 

braunwo«th  &  co. 

eookbindef^s  and  printers 

brooklyn,  n.  y. 


TO  MY  WIFE 


925730 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I     By  the  Rivert  Brim         ...         1 
II     Southward 18 

III  In  Which  Our  Princess  Sets  Up  a 

Modest  Establishment  .         .       33 

IV  Introducing  Doctor  Rudolf  Erdmann 

and  Mr.  Arthur  West  .         .       46 

V     Concerning  a  Concert,  and  Some 

People  Who  Were  There      .         ,       61 

VI     An  Old  Religion  and  a  New  Woman       76 

VII     The  Broad  Way  to  Parnassus  .       86 

VIII     Touching  Matters  of  Minor  Importance  102 

IX    The  Prince  and  the  Goose         .         .110 

X     A  Clatter  of  Musical  Shop ;  With  Some 

Rules  for  Succeeding  in  Literature     122 
XI     In  Which  Two  Maids  Let  Down 

Their  Hair  .         .         .         .134 

XII     The  Critic  to  the  Post      .         .         .147 

XIII  The  Cabochon  Emerald  Again  .     159 

XIV  The  Making  of  a  Gown    .         .         .172 
XV     Mrs.  Addison  West^  Musicale   .         .182 

XVI     A  Further  Account  of  the  Musicale        195 
XVII     In  Which  a  Young  Gentleman  Presumes 

to  Advise  a  Young  Lady      .         .     206 
XVIII     Penumbras  of  Proximate  Events        .     221 
XIX    In  Which  Our  Princess  Turns  Over 

a  New  Leaf         .         .         .         .236 


CONTENTS— Continued 


XX 

"Love  in  the  Valley" 

249 

XXI 

Containing  the  Substance  of  Several 

Letters 

260 

XXII 

"The*  Queen's  Maying"     . 

269 

XXIII 

A  Rhapsody  and  a  Farewell     . 

279 

XXIV 

In  Which,  Among  Other  Things, 
Madame  Jesurin  Makes  an 

Interesting  Discovery  . 

291 

XXV 

The  Happiness  of  a  Certain  Young 

Gentleman  is  Seriously  Considered 

305 

XXVI 

The  Happiness  of  a  Certain  Young 

Gentleman  is  Apparently  Decided 

314 

XXVII 

In  W^hich  Karl  Geist  Makes  a 

Casual  Call 

325 

XXVIII 

A  Change  in  the  Programme    . 

.     334 

XXIX 

The  Camp  on  the  Popple 

.     345 

XXX 

The  Lantern  Bearer 

357 

XXXI 

The  Love  Quest       .         .         .         , 

368 

XXXII 

In  Which  the  Prince  Comes —  . 

378 

XXXIII 

— And  the  Sleeping  Beauty  Awaken 

s    386 

DORNROSCHEN 


In  the  great  hall  of  Castle  Innocence, 

Hedged   round   with   thorns   of   maiden   doubts    and 
fears, — 
Within,  without,  a  silence  grave,  intense. 

Her  soul  lies  sleeping  through  the  rose-leaf  years. 

Hedged  round  with  thorns  of  maiden  doubts  and  fears; 

And  all  save  one  the  thither  path  shall  miss. 
Her  soul  lies  sleeping  through  the  rose-leaf  years, 

Waiting  the  Prince  and  his  awakening  kiss. 

And  all  save  one  the  thither  path  shall  miss ; 

For  one  alone  may  thread  the  thorn  defense. 
Waiting  the  Prince  and  his  awakening  kiss, 

A  hush  broods  over  Castle  Innocence, 

For  one  alone  may  thread  the  thorn  defense. 
Care  free,  heart  free,  and  singing  on  his  way. 

A  hush  broods  over  Castle  Innocence 

One  comes  to  wake;  but  when — ah,  who  can  say!    . 

Care  free,  heart  free,  and  singing  on  his  way. 
One  comes  all  thorns  of  Fear  and  Doubt  to  dare. 

One  comes  to  wake !   But  when  ?    Ah,  who  can  say 
The  hour  his  light  feet  press  the  castle  stair ! 

One  comes  all  thorns  of  Fear  and  Doubt  to  dare ! 

Thorns  with  his  coming  into  roses  bloom. 
The  hour  his  light  feet  press  the  castle  stair 

The  warders  of  the  castle  hall  give  room. 


Thorns  witli  .Iiis,  coming  into  roses  bloom : 

X:  if 'jfT  Hm'iKe  fk)wer,s  f;f  Trust  and  Faith  unfold. 

The  warders  of  the  castle  hall  give  room 

Before  the  young  Prince  of  the  Heart  of  Gold, 

For  him  the  flowers  of  Trust  and  Faith  unfold: 
Till  then  the  thorns  of  maiden  doubts  and  fears. 

Before  the  young  Prince  of  the  Heart  of  Gold 
Her  rose  soul  slumbers  through  the  tranquil  years. 

Till  then  the  thorns  of  maiden  doubts  and  fears. 

Within,  without,  a  silence  grave,  intense. 
Her  rose  soul  slumbers  through  the  tranquil  years 

In  the  great  hall  of  Castle  Innocence. 


THE  CHARLATANS 


THE   CHARLATANS 


CHAPTER    i;.  ]    ji-'Oi'^i'^ 

BY      THE      river's      BEIM 

Princess  Hope  sat  by  the  river's  brim,  her  hands 
clasped  round  her  knees,  a  look  in  her  eyes  we  call  the 
far-away. 

Princess  Hope,  it  may  as  well  be  owned  at  once,  was 
not  a  real  Princess.  Her  gown  was  not  of  silk  and 
jewel-broidered;  her  hair  was  not  spun  gold,  but  a 
wayward  coil  of  chestnut,  innocent  of  ornament ;  her 
face,  profiled  against  the  green  terrace  of  a  cascade, 
was  not  the  Princess  face  one  sees  in  books  of  faery, 
or  encounters  among  portraits  of  existing  royalty. 

1 


THE    CHARLATANS 

You  would,  perhaps,  first  remark  the  nose,  which 
was  large,  the  line  of  it  adventurous — confidently  so. 
Quite  otherwise  the  cleft  and  rounded  chin;  here  in- 
decision lurked,  questioning  the  other  feature's  daring. 
Full  lips  between,  hinting  of  a  nature  responsively 
ardent,  were  tempered  by  spiritual  brow  and  long 
throat-line,  wistfully  advanced.  A  fair  face,  you 
would  say.  A  beautiful  face,  some  would  maintain — 
opinions  vary  so;  at  all  events,  an  interesting,  an 
unusual  face. 

-  Her  name  was  Hope  Winston;  her  station  in  life, 
a  farmer's  daughter.  Then,  why  the  "Princess".'' 
yQitv1f7;ouM  Inquii^,  did  you  not  suspect  an  explanation 
close  at  hand.  Why,  then,  the  title  was  bestowed  on 
her  by  little  Alice  Winston,  a  romantic  child  whose 
glowing  fancy,  nourished  by  fairy  tales  unnumbered, 
imaged  sister  Hope  adventuring  forth  into  the  great 
wide  world  beyond  their  little  valley,  to  return,  very 
shortly  afterward,  with  a  handsome  king's  son  by 
her  side,  in  a  purple  chariot  drawn  by  snow-white 
steeds,  or  birds,  or  butterflies.  I  dare  say  that  if  you 
pinned  the  child  down  to  it,  she  would  admit  "p'tend- 
Ing."  We  elders  "pretend"  as  well,  and  with  at  best 
pedestrian  fancy. 

Always  It  was  the  elder  sister  that  rode  In  the 


BY     THE     RIVER'S     BRIM 

dream  chariot.  Hope,  in  the  eyes  of  little  Alice,  was 
a  superior  being  (there  is  one  such  in  every  fam- 
ily, as  you  have  reason  to  know) — just  the  sort  with 
which  fairies  are  fond  of  experimenting.  For  fair- 
ies, as  you  need  not  be  informed,  when  they  would 
shield  a  Princess  against  self-love  and  pride  of  station, 
or  some  dire  evil  forecast  by  court  astrologer,  change 
the  little  one  in  the  cradle,  that  she  may  grow  to  years 
of  discretion  in  the  family  of  some  honest  peasant, 
who  believes  her  to  be  his  very  own  daughter. 

In  your  excursions  among  the  peasantry  you  must 
have  remarked  more  than  one  of  these  changeling 
Princesses,  who  are  to  be  recognized  by  their  modesty, 
amiability  and  gentle  bearing.  The  writer  well  re- 
members the  summer  morning  he  encountered  one,  and 
inquired  of  her  the  way  to  a  certain  trout  stream.  (  He 
knew  the  country  quite  as  well  as  she,  but  feigned 
ignorance  that  he  might  speak  with  her.)  How 
sweetly  she  directed  him ! — ^he  heard  her  voice  all  day 
in  the  brook  water.  How  lightly  her  little  feet  touched 
earth  when  she  tripped  away ;  how  high  she  held  her 
head!  And  how  the  young  man  stared  after,  until 
the  jealous  road  crooked  suddenly  and  hid  her  from 
his  sight.    .    .    . 

The  conceit  of  the  Prince  and  chariot  gave  Ahce 
3 


THE    CHARLATANS 

a  deal  of  innocent  pleasure,  and  fortunately,  when 
one  considers  the  enormous  mischief  wrought  by  fairy 
tales,  did  nobody  a  pennyworth  of  harm.  Hope  was 
eighteen,  and  quite  sensible  for  her  years.  She  was 
not  without  her  own  romantic  notions — as  which  of  us 
is  not? — ^but  the  Prince  she  might  some  day  meet  was 
not  associated  in  her  mind  with  purple  chariots,  or 
splendor  of  any  surface  sort;  he  existed  as  a  beauti- 
ful abstraction — as  Prince  of  the  Heart  of  Gold.  Yet 
it  was  not  of  the  Prince  she  dreamed  as  she  sat  by  the 
river's  brim. 

It  was  a  mad  river — indeed,  that  was  the  name 
given  to  it  by  the  people  who  dwelt  in  its  valley — a 
mad  little  river  of  many  moods  and  many,  many  voices. 
It  came  from  somewhere  beyond  the  green  notch  in 
the  sky-line  to  the  north,  and  ran,  with  many  a  hop, 
skip  and  jump,  past  the  little  village  of  Swiftwater. 
Here  It  neighbored  the  highway,  which  led  northward 
to  Vanceburg,  and  southward,  less  specifically,  to  the 
great  wide  world. 

Of  this  world  Hope  had  only  Hearsay  knowledge. 
Her  domain,  in  which  her  gentle  sway  was  undisputed, 
was  bounded  by  the  notch  in  the  northern  sky-line, 
the  bridge  by  the  mill-pond,  and  the  walls  of  the  nar- 
row valley;  four  miles  of  river — ^and  she  knew  every 

4 


BY     THE     RIVER'S     BRIM 

foot  of  the  way.  She  knew  where  first  would  peep 
forth,  each  spring,  the  leaves  of  trillium  and  sax- 
ifrage; under  which  ledge  would  first  nod  columbine 
and  virgin's-bower ;  behind  which  mossy  rock  the  first 
star-of -Bethlehem  would  rise;  and  where  was  tiny 
bishop's-cap,  and  showy  lady's-slipper,  and  Indian- 
pipe  that  seeks  the  deepest  shadow. 

Now  it  was  no  longer  spring,  nor  even  summer. 
October's  haze  enwrapped  the  valley.  Dying  grasses 
and  denuded  boughs  framed  the  nook  in  which  our 
Princess  loitered — a  green  bowl  into  which  tumbled  a 
cascade,  and  out  of  which  ran  the  river,  waist  deep, 
through  a  maze  of  alders.  One  might  not  come  that 
way  without  a  wetting. 

Here  sat  Hope,  the  look  in  her  eyes  we  call  the 
far-away,  dreaming  of  the  world  beyond  her  valley ; 
of  men  and  women  who  mattered  in  the  scheme  of 
things,  who  lived  to  some  purpose  and  did  things,  be- 
cause the  opportunity  to  live  and  do  was  theirs. 

Ah,  that  the  opportunity  might  also  be  hers !  She, 
too,  wanted  to  live,  and  do,  and  matter  in  the  scheme 
of  things.  Not  an  unusual  aspiration  in  these  days 
of  unshackled  womanhood.  Yet,  whereas  so  many 
maids  aspire  in  a  vague  and  general  way,  the  ambition 
of  Princess  Hope  was  definite  and  statable. 

5 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Beside  her  on  the  bank  lay  a  slender  book — a  mes- 
sage, a  call.  *'Come  unto  us, "  the  burden  of  it  ran, — 
"Come  unto  us  and  learn  to  express  your  soul,** 

"Nay,  stay  with  me,"  whispered  the  Spirit  of  the 
Woodland.  "Thy  soul  shall  blossom  here  as  else- 
where." 

"Stay  with  me,"  babbled  the  little  river  of  many 
moods  and  many,  many  voices.  "Stay  with  me," 
piped  a  white-throat  from  a  hazel  covert. 

But  Princess  Hope,  for  the  first  time  deaf  to  the 
voices  of  the  wood  and  stream,  looked  steadily  into  the 
south,  over  hill  and  dale,  roof  and  spire — to  the  City 
of  the  Soul. 

Music  was  her  passion — a  passion  that  but  re- 
cently had  flowered.  She  had  escaped  being  a  child 
prodigy;  Swiftwater  was  not  an  environment  to  de- 
velop a  musical  Wunderkind.  She  was  eight  years 
old  before  she  sat  willingly  at  the  ancient  square  piano- 
forte in  the  Winston  "parlor,"  and  discovered  a  real 
interest  in  "Lucy  Long."  Even  then,  if  the  day  were 
fine,  she  would  suddenly  exhibit  stupidity  so  exasperat- 
ing that  her  mother  was  glad  to  bring  the  lesson  to  an 
abrupt  conclusion  and  send  the  child  into  the  air 
and  sunshine.     The  little  mother,  when  a  girl,  had 

6 


BY    THE     RIVERAS     BRIM 

shown  a  talent  for  music,  but,  wanting  cultivation, 
it  had  come  to  nothing. 

On  rainy  days  and  in  winter  time,  little  Hope 
practised  with  industry  and  enthusiasm;  and  so  swift 
was  her  progress  that  in  a  year  she  was  playing 
"Autumn  Leaves,"  "Forest  Reveries,"  "Whisperings" 
of  this,  "Rustlings"  of  that,  "Silvery  Waves,"  "Mon- 
astery Bells,"  "Clayton's  Grand  March,"  and  other 
brave  tunes  of  an  elder  day.  These  occupied  her  fin- 
gers until  her  fourteenth  birthday. 

It  was  then  decided  that  she  should  receive  more 
serious  instruction;  and  once  a  week  she  drove  to 
Vanceburg,  eight  miles  distant,  to  recite  to  a  super- 
annuated German  professor  in  side-whiskers,  who 
dozed  through  the  lesson  and  woke  with  a  start  to 
say,  "Very  goot."  She  learned  nothing  of  importance 
from  him,  nor  from  his  successor,  an  Italian  voice 
culturist,  who  knew  even  less  about  the  piano  than  the 
voice.  These  were  charlatans,  members  of  a  family 
who  are  in  number  as  the  sands  of  the  sea. 

Had  Hope  been  a  real  Princess,  the  instruction  she 
received  at  this  period  would  have  sufficed;  for  in  the 
education  of  royalty,  music  is  of  no  more  importance 
than  dancing,  or  painting,  or  any  other  accomplish- 
ment polite.     But  music,  intuition  told  our  Princess, 

7 


THE    CHARLATANS 

was  to  mean  more  to  her  than  anything  else  in  the 
world;  and  thus  it  was  a  happy  and  an  ever-to-be-re- 
membered day  when  Enlightenment  knocked  at  the 
porch  of  the  Winston  farm-house  and  begged  a  glass 
of  well-water. 

Enlightenment  was  a  Mrs.  Maybury,  who  had  ac- 
companied her  husband  on  a  fishing  trip  to  the  coun- 
try round  about  Vanceburg.  Mrs.  Maybury  was  a 
small  woman,  with  a  delicate  oval  face,  fine  brown  eyes, 
and  very  long  eyelashes ;  a  quiet-mannered,  low-voiced 
lady.  No  one  just  like  her  had  passed  before  through 
the  valley  of  the  Mad  River. 

While  Maybury  fished,  his  wife  botanized  and 
studied  birds ;  and  as  Mad  River  was  one  of  the  best 
trout  streams  in  the  county,  Hope  and  Mrs.  Maybury 
saw  each  other  frequently.  The  girl  and  her  music 
Interested  the  woman, — ^the  slim,  shy  country  maid 
with  the  dreaming  eyes  and  awkwardly-drooping 
shoulders ;  the  tinkling,  rubbishy  music,  unworthy  of 
the  manifest  talent  squandered  on  It.  It  transpired, 
one  day,  that  Mrs.  Maybury  was  a  musician.  Hope, 
abashed  and  crimson-cheeked,  exclaimed:  "Oh,  I 
should  not  have  played  for  you  If  I  had  known !" 

"You  have  no  reason  to  feel  ashamed  of  the  per- 
formance," Mrs.  Maybury  said ;  "you  play  very  well. 

8  ' 


BY     THE     RIVER'S     BRIM 

But,  my  dear  girl,  if  music,  as  you  say,  means  more 
to  you  than  anything  else  in  the  world,  it  is  high  time 
you  learned  something  about  it.  This," — she  indi- 
cated contemptuously  the  stack  of  "Rustlings"  and 
"Reveries"  on  the  piano, — "this  isn't  music,  you 
know." 

Hope  had  suspected  something  of  the  sort,  and 
eagerly  she  begged  to  be  enlightened.  She  thirsted 
for  knowledge,  and  her  new  friend's  phrases  sank  into 
her  mind  like  rain  in  a  desert,  which  waits  but  this  to 
put  forth  fruits  and  flowers. 

"You  must  study  Bach,  and  Beethoven,  and 
Brahms,  and  Schumann,  and  all  the  other  masters," 
Mrs.  Maybury  told  her.  "You  can  not  do  much  in  this 
out-of-the-way  place ;  soon  or  late  you  must  go  to  the 
city,  and  the  sooner  the  better ;  but  meantime  you  can 
start  yourself  in  the  right  direction.  When  I  go  home 
I  will  send  you  some  music,  which  will  keep  you  busy 
for  a  while.  .  •  .  And  now  I  must  say  good-by. 
We  leave  to-morrow." 

"Won't  you  play  for  me  before  you  go?"  Hope  re- 
quested. "I  have  never  heard  any  real  playing." 

"You  poor  child!"  said  Mrs.  Maybury.  "Yes; 
of  course  I  will  play  for  you.    What  shall  it  be  ?" 

"Bach,  or  Beethoven,  or     .     .     ." 
9 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"B-r-a-h-m-s."  Mrs.  May  bury  spelled  out  the 
strange  word,  smiling.  "I  am  especially  interested  in 
Brahms.    I  will  play  his  Second  Rhapsody." 

Hope's  first  sensation  was  one  of  bewilderment. 
Her  ear  was  unprepared  for  the  strange  harmonies 
that  poured  tumultuously  upon  it.  This  sensation 
gave  way  to  a  physical  tremulousness,  and  tears 
started  in  her  eyes.  Unaware  of  the  effect  she  was 
producing,  the  pianist  began  the  climax  of  the  Rhap- 
sody, and  the  fierce  rush  of  it  swept  Hope  into  hys- 
teria. She  felt  she  must  cry  out,  beseech  the  lady  to 
stop  playing,  or  fly  the  room.  She  rose,  but  dizziness 
took  her,  and  she  sank  back  again.  She  was  sobbing 
when  the  music  ceased. 

Surprised  and  pleased,  Mrs.  Maybury  put  an  arm 
about  the  neophyte's  shoulders.  "Dear  girl,"  she 
said,  "I  have  never  had  so  sympathetic  a  listener." 

She  played  for  an  hour  or  more,  until  she  came  to 
the  end  of  her  repertory,  which,  she  remarked,  was 
brief  in  summer.     .     .     . 

The  promised  books  came  promptly:  a  volume  of 
Czerny  studies,  Bach's  Inventions,  and  the  first  vol- 
ume of  Beethoven's  Sonatas. 

"When  you  can  play  Czerny  up  to  tempo,"  wrote 
Enlightenment,  "you  can  play  anything.    But  Bach! 

10 


BY     THE     RIVER'S     BRIM 

— study  Bach.  As  my  friend  Karl  Geist  says,  *Bach, 
then  Bach;  and  when  you  have  finished  with  Bach, 
study  Bach.  For  there  is  nothing  new  in  music;  you 
can  go  back  and  find  it  all  in  Bach.' 

"I  hope,  dear  girl,  I  have  done  you  some  good.  I 
feel  that  I  have.  When  you  venture  the  city,  as  some 
day  you  will,  be  sure  to  come  to  me.     .     .     ." 

Fourteen  months  had  passed,  and  Hope  was  still  in 
Swiftwater.  But  the  months  had  been  profitably  em- 
ployed. Six  hours  a  day  she  labored  at  the  ancient  in- 
strument in  the  Winston  parlor,  and  was  as  fresh  at 
the  end  of  her  practice,  almost,  as  at  the  beginning; 
for  she  had  health  and  strength,  and  firm  though 
finely-tempered  nerves.  The  mother  continued  to  en- 
courage her,  remembering  her  own  scant  opportuni- 
ties, and  enthusiastic  little  Alice  helped  by  taking  all 
of  the  dish-washing  and  bed-making  on  herself. 

There  is  no  royal  road  to  learning,  but  genius  has 
a  trick  of  cutting  across  lots.  Thus  Hope  knew  her 
Bach  and  Beethoven,  and  could  play  the  Czemy  within 
hailing  distance  of  tempo,  when  Professor  Demeritt, 
fresh  from  the  city,  in  all  the  panoply  of  diploma  and 
teacher's  certificate,  established  himself  in  Vanceburg 
as  teacher  of  pianoforte. 

Farmer  Winston's  property  was  conspicuous  more 
11 


THE    CHARLATANS 

by  the  absence  of  mortgage  on  his  estates  than  by  the 
presence  of  cash  in  hand;  but  there  had  always  been 
a  httle  money  for  music  lessons,  and  it  was  voted  that 
the  village  Liszt  should  have  a  trial. 

But  in  the  presence  of  Genius,  Professor  Demeritt 
lost  his  nerve.  He  could  teach  her  nothing — he  knew 
that  when  he  heard  her  play;  and  she,  as  he  felt, 
would  come  to  know  it  too,  and  would  despise  him. 
The  girl  played  marvelously  well.  Where  had  she 
picked  up  all  that  technic?  He  took  a  turn  about  the 
room ;  then  he  said,  with  a  hum  here  and  a  haw  there : 

"Of  course.  Miss,  I  should  be  pleased  to  have  you 
for  a  pupil;  but  I  am  inclined  to  believe — I  may  say 
I  am  certain — ^that  you  should  have  a  wider  field. 
Here  is  a  book,  the  annual  catalogue  of  the  Colossus 
Conservatory  of  Music.  I  spent  three  months  there." 

The  professor  pointed  to  the  teacher's  certificate 
framed  above  the  piano. 

"I  took  the  business  course,  but  you,  of  course,  will 
want  the  classical;  that  will  require  at  least  a  year. 
You  do  not  wish  to  become  a  teacher,  I  suppose .?" 

He  glanced,  with  a  shade  of  apprehension,  at  the 
certificate  on  the  wall. 

"No ;  I  do  not  wish  to  become  a  teacher,"  Hope  re- 
plied. 

12 


BY     THE     RIVER'S     BRIM 

"Read  this  book,  Miss,  and  consult  with  your  par- 
ents. Tell  them  I  can  recommend  the  conservatory. 
It  is  the  largest  and  finest  in  the  world." 

And  Hope  had  taken  the  book  to  her  favorite  pool 
on  the  Mad  River.  And  there  she  had  looked  into  the 
south  and  dreamed.  And  the  little  river  had  babbled 
of  green  fields  all  in  vain. 

The  annual  catalogue  of  the  Colossus  Conservatory 
of  Music  was  one  of  the  prettiest  booklets  imaginable. 
It  was  printed  on  thick  glossy  paper,  and  bound  in 
red  and  gold ;  and  scattered  through  the  text  were  por- 
traits of  men  and  women  who,  one  was  informed, 
taught  the  inarticulate  soul  to  express  itself  through 
the  medium  of  music. 

In  respect  of  personal  appearance  these  soul  cultur- 
ists  did  not  differ  widely  from  the  men  and  women  of 
Hope  Winston's  acquaintance.  The  men,  to  be  sure, 
had  more  hair  (some  of  them  were  very  Shagpats), 
and  their  mustaches  drooped  more  pensively  or  twisted 
up  more  jauntily;  the  women,  too,  were  sprucer  and 
smarter  looking  than  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the 
farmers  of  Swif twater ;  But  otherwise  they  were  plain 
enough,  and  little  suggested  the  soul  power  which,  the 
catalogue  more  than  hinted,  was  peculiarly  theirs.  In- 

13 


THE    CHARLATANS 

deed,  one  soul-propagator,  the  size  of  whose  portrait 
argued  an  uncommon  puissance,  resembled  much  the 
barber  of  Swiftwater,  who  expressed  his  soul  through 
the  medium  of  razor  and  shears. 

Some  of  the  faces  were  interesting,  one  especially 
so.  The  profile  showed  a  high  poetic  brow,  a  thin 
cheek  and  a  sensitive  mouth;  the  hair  was  short  and 
straight,  and  there  was  neither  beard  nor  mustache. 
Beneath  the  portrait  was  the  line:  "Karl  Geist,  Vio- 
linist and  Teacher  of  Theory."  Hope  liked  this  por- 
trait above  all  the  others,  and  looked  at  it  a  long  time. 
It  was  such  a  face  as  you  might  find  on  a  painter's 
canvas,  with  the  word  "Music"  below  it. 

Of  another  sort  was  the  portrait  on  the  opposite 
page,  that  of  Professor  Jan  Van  Wart,  head  of  the 
piano  department,  and  "Liszt's  favorite  pupil."  Van 
Wart  had  a  great  quantity  of  hair,  tumbling  over 
forehead  to  eyes ;  his  face  was  round  and  fat,  and  its 
expression  moony.  He  had  evidently  put  on  a  frown 
before  the  camera,  but  had  neglected  to  adjust  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  to  the  corrugations  of  his  brow. 

The  largest  portrait,  which  served  as  frontispiece, 
was  that  of  Doctor  Rudolf  Erdmann,  president  of  the 
Colossus — ^a  handsome  man,  with  dark  bold  eyes  and 
heavy  black  mustache.    He  suggested  a  stock-broker, 

14 


BY     THE     RIVER'S     BRIM 

a  merchant  prince,  a  railway  president — anything  but 
a  musician. 

From  the  catalogue  one  learned  that  the  Colossus 
was  the  largest  conservatory  of  music  in  this  or  any 
other  land ;  that  it  had  more  departments,  more  world- 
renowned  instructors,  more  educational  methods,  than 
any  other;  that  the  conservatory  building  reached 
nearer  to  heaven,  and  contained  more  studios,  than 
any  other;  that  it  graduated  more  students,  issued 
more  diplomas  and  teachers'  certificates,  conferred 
more  degrees,  and  provided  clamant  lyceums  with  more 
instrumental  artists  and  vocalists,  than  any  twenty 
other  conservatories  combined. 

The  Colossus  catered  to  every  want  conceivable,  and 
there  was  no  longer  a  reason  why  one  should  go  abroad 
in  search  of  a  musical  education.  Atmosphere.? — the 
gaseous  envelop  surrounding  the  Colossus  contained  a 
maximum  amount  of  musical  oxygen;  the  student- 
thousands  who  breathed  it  were  a  community  in  them- 
selves. And  where  abroad  were  such  rapid  results  to 
be  obtained?  "Graduated  while  you  wait"  might  be 
the  motto  of  the  Colossus.  What  foreign  music  shop 
could  match  it.? 

The  modest  claims  of  the  directors  were  backed  by 
words   of  prominent  citizens  and  newspapers.    The 

15 


THE    CHARLATANS 

former  felicitated  themselves  and  fellow  citizens  on 
the  possession  of  such  a  mighty  engine  of  culture ;  the 
latter  expressed  satisfaction  that  the  day  of  the  edu- 
cation "made  in  Germany"  was  past.  Westward  the 
star  of  culture,  like  the  star  of  empire,  took  its  way. 

Concerning  the  worth  and  the  soul  dynamics  of  the 
conservatory  staff,  it  was  only  necessary  to  submit  the 
names  of  the  leading  instructors.  All  were  virtuosi  of 
international  repute.  The  directors  had  spared  neither 
effort  nor  money  in  skimming  from  the  musical  milk- 
pails  of  the  world  the  cream  of  the  profession.  Every 
instructional  method  in  vocal  and  instrumental  music 
was  represented  in  this  dazzling  galaxy ;  every  variety 
of  temperament,  from  the  tumultuous  Slavic  to  the 
reposeful  British.  Positively  there  was  nothing  lack- 
ing. 

This,  then,  was  the  mighty  engine  of  soul  culture, 
perfect  in  each  part,  perfect  in  all.  "Come  unto  us," 
exhorted  Doctor  Erdmann,  addressing  them  that 
dwelt  in  provincial  outer  darkness, — "come  unto  us, 
and  learn  to  express  your  soul !" 

"If  I  only  could !"  murmured  the  young  woman  by 
the  river's  brim. 

She  longed  to  adventure  into  the  world  beyond  her 
little  valley;  a  world  she  knew  only  from  books  and 

10 


BY     THE     RIVER'S     BRIM 

magazines,  and  contact  with  sophisticated  city  rela- 
tives who  came,  in  summer,  to  the  valley  of  the  Mad 
River, — a  wonderful  world  in  which  she  dwelt  in 
thought,  and  to  which,  she  felt,  she.  naturally  be- 
longed. 


17 


CHAPTER     II 


SOUTHWARD 


Swiftwater  communicated  with  the  world  by  way  of 
Vanceburg,  through  which  ran  the  railway.  The  val- 
ley of  Mad  River  was  narrow,  and  the  tillable  land  in 
Swiftwater  lay  mainly  south  of  the  village,  where  the 
vale  spread  out  for  a  few  miles.  The  place  was  so 
small,  the  inhabitants  so  few,  that  social  life  could 
scarcely  be  said  to  exist.  There  was  not  even  a  meet- 
ing-house ;  the  consolations  of  religion  were  no  nearer 
than  Vanceburg,  and  the  sixteen-mile  drive  was  a  test 
of  faith. 

The  Winston  acres  were  few  but  fertile.  They  bor- 
dered the  river,  and  gave  annually  a  good  account  of 
themselves.  The  farm-house  stood  where  highway  and 

18 


SOUTHWARD 


r- 


river  met,  at  a  safe  elevation  above  floodwater.  It  was 
a  pleasant  old  place,  well  cared  for,  and  presentable 
always. 

The  old-fashioned  kitchen  was  the  largest  and 
cheeriest  room  in  the  house;  and  here,  when  supper 
was  by  and  the  dishes  "done,"  the  Winston  family 
went  into  committee  of  the  whole,  to  consider  Pro- 
fessor Demeritt's  suggestion  and  the  conservatory 
catalogue. 

Little  Alice,  naturally,  brimmed  over  with  enthusi- 
asm. The  hour  had  come  for  Princess  Hope  to  ad- 
venture forth  into  the  great  wide  world,  and  return  in 
the  purple  chariot  drawn  by  snow-white  steeds,  or 
birds,  or  butterflies.  As  for  the  Prince — 

"He  will  be  just  the  nicest  ever !"  Alice  cried.  *'Tall 
and  slender,  with  dark  eyes  and  hair.      .      .      . " 

"Little  silly!"  said  Hope,  checking  further  non- 
sense with  a  hug. 

"How  much  does  this  soul  business  cost?"  inquired 
Farmer  Winston,  turning  the  pages  of  the  red  and 
gold  booklet. 

"It  depends  on  the  teacher ;  some  charge  more  than 
others,"  said  Hope.  "There  is  a  scale  of  prices  at  the 
back  of  the  book." 

"Um !"  said  the  farmer. 
19 


THE    CHARLATANS 

As  became  a  hard-headed  agriculturist  with  an  un- 
mortgaged farm,  he  took  a  practical  view  of  the  prop- 
osition. Of  soul  expression  through  other  mediums 
than  the  plow  and  milk-pail,  he  knew  nothing,  but  he 
was  not  gainsaying  their  utility  or  superiority.  He 
was  fond  of  music,  as  we  all  are — or  all  except  a  few 
sad  mortals ;  and  he  had  assented  readily  to  his  wife's 
early  suggestions  regarding  Hope's  musical  educa- 
tion. He  did  not  believe  she  should  learn  overmuch. 
He  had  a  brother,  he  remarked,  who  could  play  six 
tunes  and  no  more,  and  he  "would  rather  hear  Ed 
play  them  six  tunes  than  hear  Paderooski." 

"  'Students,'  "  he  read  aloud,  "  'can  obtain  good 
board  and  lodging  in  private  families  for  five  dollars 
a  week  and  upwards.'  And  here's  twenty-five  dollars 
for  a  diplomy,  and  ten  dollars  for  a  teacher's  certifi- 
cate." 

"I  don't  wish  to  teach,"  said  Hope. 

"Oh,  you  want  to  be  a  Paderooski,"  rejoined  the 
farmer  good-humoredly. 

Hope  did  not  deny  it. 

"Show  piano  players  make  a  good  deal  of  money," 
remarked  Mother  Winston,  looking  up  from  her  sew- 
ing. 

The  statement  went  unchallenged.  There  was  a 
20 


SOUTHWARD 

practical  side  to  Paderewski's  profession  which  the 
farmer  did  not  overlook.  If  Hope  could  become  a 
"show  pianist,"  any  money  spent  on  her  would  be 
well  invested;  and  Hope,  in  her  father's  phrase,  was 
"as  smart  as  they  made  'em."  Even  if  she  failed  to 
grasp  this  topmost  rung  of  the  musical  ladder,  the 
teaching  field  would  be  open  to  her ;  the  conservatory 
guaranteed  both  diploma  and  teacher's  certificate. 
Professor  Demeritt  was  Hkely  "no  great  shakes,"  yet 
he  got  fifty  cents  an  hour  for  adults  and  twenty-five 
cents  for  children. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  be  a  teacher,"  Hope  repeated.  "If 
I  can  not  become  what  mother  calls  a  show  player,  I 
would  as  soon  stay  in  Swiftwater." 

"You're  likely  to  stay,"  said  the  farmer  dryly.  "I 
don't  know  where  the  money's  to  come  from." 

"There's  the  timber  trade  with  Dan  Mead,"  Mrs. 
Winston  gently  reminded  him. 

"We'll  know  more  about  that,^'  he  answered,  "when 
Dan  gets  through  geein'  an'  hawin'." 

At  this  critical  juncture,  when  the  nays  appeared 
to  have  it.  Farmer  Winston,  thumbing  the  pages  of 
the  catalogue,  happened  on  a  paragraph  in  small  type 
which  had  escaped  even  Hope's  observation.  The  con- 
servatory awarded  annually  a  limited  number  of  schol- 

21 


THE    CHARLATANS 

arships  to  students  endowed  with  talent  but  not  the 
means  to  develop  it. 

This  seemed  to  fit  the  present  case,  and  put  a 
brighter  face  upon  the  matter.  If  a  scholarship  could 
be  obtained,  Farmer  Winston  thought.     .     .     . 

A  letter  was  despatched  to  Doctor  Rudolf  Erd- 
mann,  president  of  the  Colossus,  and  the  reply  came 
promptly.  Doctor  Erdmann  regretted  that  all  the 
free  scholarships  had  been  awarded;  this  was  inevi- 
table, as  the  student  year  had  begun.  However,  the 
president  begged  to  direct  attention  to  the  partial 
scholarships,  which  were  to  be  had  in  much  greater 
number. 

Upon  this  point  Doctor  Erdmann  was  rather  hazy. 
He  quoted  no  figures.  "In  cases  where  a  student  is 
able  to  pay  a  small  sum  for  the  inestimable  privileges 
of  our  institution,"  he  wrote,  "application  for  a  par- 
tial scholarship  should  always  be  made.  The  free 
scholarships  are  restricted  to  those  students  who  are 
absolutely  without  means.  We  shall  be  very  glad  to 
have  Miss  Winston  with  us,  and  shall  unquestionably 
come  to  a  financial  agreement." 

"Like  as  not  he  means  he'll  take  what  he  can  get," 
commented  Farmer  Winston,  who  knew  a  hawk  from 
a  hand-saw,  in  whatever  quarter  the  wind  might  be. 

22 


SOUTHWARD 


Z' 


Affairs  were  now  at  a  crisis,  and  very  little  was 
needed  to  turn  the  scale.  Happily  Dan  Mead  gave  up 
"geein'  an'  hawin',"  and  came  to  time  on  the  timber 
trade.  This  decided  that  Hope  should  go  on  to  the 
city,  and  make  the  best  terms  possible  with  the  con- 
servatory management. 

"I  guess  they  won't  turn  you  away,"  observed  her 
father. 

So  on  a  memorable  morning  in  mid-October  a  mod- 
est trunk  was  strapped  to  the  Winston  buckboard,  and 
Princess  Hope  stepped  to  a  seat  beside  little  Alice,  who 
was  to  drive  her  over  the  mountain. 

Where  the  highway  and  the  river  parted  company 
Hope  checked  the  horse,  for  a  last  look  at  the  clean 
brown  current.  "When  the  snow  goes  off  in  the 
spring,  little  sister,"  she  said,  "you  must  make  the 
rounds  and  see  how  my  flowers  are  doing.  Tell  them 
I  shall  come  again  some  day." 

Alice  promised  gravely,  and  they  went  on  to  Vance- 
burg  and  the  railway. 

It  was  Hope's  first  real  journey,  her  first  adventure 
beyond  the  valley's  brim,  and  a  measure  of  melancholy 
tinged  her  pleasurable  anticipations.  The  quiet  little 
mother  had  cried  a  good  deal  at  parting ;  her  father's 

23 


THE    CHARLATANS 

serious  good-by  was  still  in  her  ears ;  and  every  mile 
of  the  flying  landscape  was  a  mute  farewell. 

Silver  birches  that  had  turned  to  gold;  maples 
crimson,  blood-red,  wine-red,  not  a  trace  of  green ; 
lindens  and  alders  striving  vainly  to  match  the  glory 
of  the  maples ;  back  of  all,  the  grateful  green  of  the 
firs, — these,  the  outer  walls  of  her  happy  valley,  gave 
way  with  the  afternoon  hours  to  a  more  sophisticated 
countryside,  to  rolling  fields,  kempt  villages,  factory 
towns,  and  smoky  skies. 

Toward  sundown  she  changed  to  another  train,  on 
the  main  line,  and  obtained  a  berth  in  a  sleeping-car, 
the  extravagant  fittings  of  which  amazed  her  and 
jarred  a  native  appreciation  of  beauty  unadorned. 
She  was  more  impressed  by  the  elegant  "fittings"  of 
her  fellow  passengers,  chiefly  city  dames  and  daugh- 
ters returning  from  the  summer  invasion  of  the  prov- 
inces, attired  in  a  style  unknown  to  Swiftwater  folk, 
who  got  their  fashions  from  the  mail-order  establish- 
ments in  the  metropolis,  along  with  their  melodeons 
and  red-plush  furniture. 

The  coach  filled  rapidly  as  twilight  closed  in,  and 
presently  the  vacant  seat  in  Hope's  section  was  the 
only  one  unoccupied.  This  at  the  next  station  was 
taken  by  a  stoutish  lady  in  black,  who  smiled  affably 

24 


SOUTHWARD 

as  she  plumped  into  her  allotted  portion  of  upholstery. 
Hope  answered  the  smile,  and  made  room  beside  her 
for  a  part  of  the  lady's  impedimenta,  the  bulk  and  di- 
versity of  which  brought  a  frown  to  the  face  of  the 
porter,  who  did  not  scent  a  fee. 

Madame  was  possibly  forty  years  old,  and  of  the 
build  contemned  by  Byron — dumpy.  The  dominant 
note  in  her  personality,  which  sounded  so  clearly  that 
all  might  hear,  was  wide-awakeness.  It  sounded  in  her 
dark  restless  eyes,  in  swift  movements  of  her  hands, 
in  little  tosses  of  her  head,  and,  more  loudly  and  less 
pleasantly,  in  her  voice.  She  appeared  a  "foreigner." 
Her  complexion  was  swarthy,  and  the  voice  in  which 
she  addressed  the  conductor,  in  complaint  against  a 
system  of  car-construction  that  neglected  to  make 
every  berth  a  lower,  had  an  accent  unfamiliar  to  the 
ear  of  Swiftwater. 

"I  am  so  large,"  she  said  to  Hope,  "that  it  is  quite 
an  effort  to  climb  up  and  down." 

Hope  offered  to  exchange  berths.  As  she  had  never 
experienced  the  discomforts  of  upper  or  lower,  she 
was  able  truthfully  to  say  that  she  had  no  choice  in 
the  matter. 

The  other  protested  against  the  sacrifice — but  con- 
sented to  it. 

25 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  she  beamed.  "What  a 
beautiful  day  it  has  been!  One  regrets  returning  to 
the  city  and  leaving  so  much  color  behind.  I  love 
autumn;  it  is  my  favorite  season.  As  George  Eliot 
says,  'if  I  were  a  bird  I  should  go  flying  about  the 
earth  in  pursuit  of  successive  autumns.'  " 

Hope  tried  to  picture  the  stoutish  lady  as  a  bird, 
but  with  poor  success.  She  ventured  to  express  a 
preference  for  spring. 

"Spring,  too,  is  beautiful,"  said  Madame.  "I  love 
spring.  It  was  my  husband's  favorite  season.  .  .  . 
You  are  going  through  to  the  city .?" 

"Yes." 

"An  ideal  month  in  which  to  visit  it." 

Hope  remarked  that  she  purposed  residing  in  the 
city. 

"So!  You  come  to  study  music?"  Madame  laughed 
— a  curious  little  diatonic  laugh.  "You  wonder  at  my 
guessing  ability :  it  is  really  not  so  remarkable.  You 
have  a  musical  head — I  am  a  good  deal  of  a  phrenolo- 
gist, you  see;  the  music  bumps  are  very  large.  And 
then,  so  many  students  come  to  the  city  at  this  time 
of  year — or  perhaps  a  little  earlier." 

"Yes ;  I  am  a  month  late,"  said  Hope. 

"Music,  music — ^how  I  love  it!"  avowed  the  other, 
26 


SOUTHWARD 

with  upturned  eyes.  "It  is  such  a  beautiful  way  to 
express  one's  soul." 

The  phrase  of  the  catalogue !  Evidently  in  the  city 
the  word  soul  had  a  wider  application  than  in  Swift- 
water,  where  it  was  not  a  topic  of  every-day  conver- 
sation. On  Sundays  the  Vanceburg  pastor  referred 
to  it,  but  always  as  a  somewhat  that  required  saving, 
not  expressing:  if  the  soul  were  saved,  that  was  the 
blessed  end  of  the  matter.  Nor  could  Hope  pronounce 
the  word,  as  many  of  us  can,  trippingly  upon  the 
tongue:  occasionally  to  musical  genius  is  added  the 
great  gift  of  humor.  She  imaged  her  timid  little  self 
passing  the  portals  of  the  great  city,  the  while  a  her- 
ald proclaimed:  "Make  way,  make  way  for  Princess 
Hope,  who  has  come  to  express  her  soul !" 

"Three  months  I  have  been  away,"  pursued  Ma- 
dame, "and  not  a  note  of  music  have  I  heard  in  all 
that  time.  What  a  deprivation!  Think  of  three 
months  without  Wagner !" 

"Think  of  never  having  heard  him  at  all!"  said 
Hope,  humorously  touched  by  her  own  abyssal  be- 
nightment. 

"Unglaublich!'*  exclaimed  Madame,  surprised  out 
of  English.   "And  you  a  musician !" 

"Not  yet.  You  see,  I  come  from  a  small  village." 
27 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"But  one  may  visit  the  city  in  the  opera  season," 
said  Madame. 

"I  have  never  before  been  ten  miles  from  home." 

Madame  could  scarcely  credit  it.  The  girl  did  not 
look  especially  rustic.  Tanned  throats  and  rosy 
cheeks  are  common  in  October  everywhere. 

"However,  I  observe  that  you  have  heard  of  Emer- 
son," she  smiled,  taking  up  the  book  which  the  young 
girl  had  been  reading. 

"My  aunt  sends  me  a  great  many  books,"  said 
Hope.  "And  there  is  a  small  but  very  good  library  in 
Vanceburg."  She  laughed.  "I  believe  I  have  read 
every  book  in  it." 

"I  love  Emerson,"  said  Madame,  opening  the  book 
and  shutting  it  again.   "Pie  is  so  m3^stical." 

'Hope  agreed,  and  conversation,  thus  agreeably  es- 
tablished, ran  on  unflaggingly.  Miss  Winston  learned 
that  her  companion  was  Madame  Amelia  Jesurin,  the 
widow  of  a  French  count,  who  expressed  her  soul  in 
teaching  languages,  both  her  own,  which  was  German, 
and  that  of  her  lamented  husband.  She  had,  as  she 
took  occasion  to  confide,  deeply  loved  this  incompar- 
able man ;  and  his  passing  left  such  a  void  in  her  life 
that,  no  matter  how  many  other  things  she  loved^ — 
autumn,  spring,  Wagner,  ham  sandwiches  (they  were 

28 


SOUTIIWARD 

"discussing"  the  contents  of  their  lunch-boxes), — ^the 
vacuum  remained  unfilled. 

"Then  jou  are  a  real  countess,"  said  Hope,  im- 
pressed. 

''Gewiss.  But  I  do  not  use  the  title." 

Hope  wondered  what  little  Alice  would  say  if  she 
knew  that  on  the  first  day  of  her  adventure  into  the 
great  wide  world  her  Princess  sister  had  fallen  in  with 
a  real  live  countess;  the  Prince  and  the  chariot  could 
not  be  far  away.  She  smiled;  then,  meeting  the 
Countess's  inquiring  gaze,  she  blushed,  and  explained 
in  some  confusion  the  source  of  her  amusement. 

Madame  Jesurin  entered  sympathetically  into  the 
spirit  of  the  fantasy.  "I  love  fairy  tales,"  she  said, 
"and  I  should  like  to  be  one  of  the  good  fairies  to  help 
you  find  your  Prince.    First,  what  does  he  look  like.'^" 

Hope  disclaimed  meditation  on  the  matter. 

"Tall,  of  course,"  said  Madame  Jesurin,  ignoring 
the  disclaimer. 

Hope  agreed  he  should  be  tall,  though  it  was  really 
of  no  consequence. 

"Dark  eyes  or  light.?" 

Dark,  perhaps,  though  light  would  do  as  well. 

"We  are  getting  on,"  cried  the  Countess  merrily. 
"He  must  be  tall,  and  dark-eyed ;  handsome,  of  course, 

29 


THE    CHARLATANS 

like  a  Greek  god — I  love  Greek  gods ;  and  with  a 
pretty  silken  mustache,  and  just  the  least  tilt  to  his 
nose.  .  .  .  Well,  child,"  she  sighed,  "I  am  not 
much  of  a  fairy,  I  fear.  I  have  no  wand,  and  I  am 
poor  as  a  church-mouse;  but  perhaps  I  may  be  of 
service  to  you  in  other  ways.  On  which  side  of  the 
city  shall  you  live.?" 

Hope  remarked  that  the  conservatory  would  assist 
her  to  find  a  desirable  home. 

"Why  do  you  not  keep  house  for  yourself?"  sug- 
gested Madame  Jesurin.  "It  is  cheaper  and  pleasanter 
than  to  board." 

She  went  on  to  say  that  she  lived  on  the  north  side 
of  town,  in  two  rooms  of  a  humble  flat  kept  by  a  Mrs. 
Grady ;  and  it  so  happened  that  another  pair  of  rooms 
in  this  flat  were  at  present  vacant.  They  had  been 
occupied  by  two  young  women,  music  students  like 
Hope,  and  had  been  made  very  cozy  and  comfortable. 
Madame  Jesurin  had  been  away  three  months,  but  it 
was  not  likely  that  the  little  rooms  had  been  rented,  as 
she  had  talked  of  adding  them  to  her  own  establish- 
ment. 

"Look  out  for  strangers !"  was  the  parting  advice 
of  Farmer  Winston,  who  on  a  memorable  occasion  had 
been  invited  to  invest  in  a  hexahedral  chunk  of  yellow 

30 


SOUTHWARD 

metal.  But  Madame  Jesurin  was  manifestly  honest, 
as  one  more  experienced  than  Hope  would  have  de- 
cided; and  perhaps  the  two  little  rooms  were  just 
what  Plope  would  fancy,  if  the  conservatory  could 
not  do  better ;  so  she  thanked  the  Countess,  and  prom- 
ised to  look  at  the  apartments. 

Madame  Jesurin  chatted  the  evening  away.  What 
a  lot  she  knew  about  music — and  everything  else! 
Hope,  deeply  impressed  by  her  companion's  cleverness, 
played  the  part  of  listener  most  eloquently,  seldom 
obtruding  an  opinion  of  her  own.  One  who  confessed 
complete  ignorance  of  Richard  Wagner's  music  would 
best  sing  small. 

Madame  touched  on  the  advantages  which  the  city 
offered  to  the  soul  yearning  for  full  expression.  What 
with  concerts,  art  galleries,  libraries,  lectures,  and  so 
on,  one  could  fill  in  every  hour  of  the  week;  one 
grudged  the  hours  required  for  sleep. 

Alas,  the  porter  was  even  now  making  up  the 
berths. 

Sleep  came  slowly  to  Hope.  The  upper  berth  was 
stuffy  (what  could  the  lower  be.'')  and  her  head  ached 
a  little;  Madame  Jesurin  was  not  a  soporific.  But 
gradually  the  vibration  of  the  coach  lulled  her,  and 
some  time  after  midnight  she  passed  into  a  slumber 


THE    CHARLATANS 

which,  though  short,  was  dreamless  and  altogether 
refreshing. 

She  was  astir  first  in  the  morning,  for  nobility 
sleeps  late;  and  she  was  uncommonly  hungry  when 
the  Countess  at  last  made  her  appearance.  And  then 
a  postponement  of  breakfast  was  suggested. 

"They  charge  so  much  on  the  train,"  Madame  Jesu- 
rin  explained.  "You  shall  take  breakfast  with  me,  if 
you  will,  and  have  a  look  at  the  rooms.  It  Is  only  a 
little  way  to  Mrs.  Grady's." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  porter  was  slapping  them 
with  an  apathetic  brush,  and  Madame  Jesurin  was 
warning  Miss  Winston  that  the  city  was  noisy  and 
dirty,  but  that  she  would  grow  to  like  it. 

Not  so  sure  of  this  was  Hope  when  she  stood  with- 
out the  railway  station,  bewildered  by  the  din  of  the 
metropolis,  the  mighty  roar  of  commerce. 

"It  is  grand,  it  is  epic !"  Madame  Jesurin  shouted 
in  her  ear.  "It  is  thus  the  great  city  expresses  its 
soul." 


82 


CHAPTER    III 


IN      WHICH      OUR      PRINCESS      SETS      UP      A 
MODEST       E  ST  AB  lilSH  M  E  N  T 


While  Madame  Jesurin  searched  her  hand-bag-  for 
the  latch-key,  Hope  had  a  good  look  at  the  exterior 
of  No.  69  Atwood  Street.  It  was  not  promising. 

The  frame  dwelling  of  two  stories  was  old,  and  had 
not  known  fresh  paint  for  a  long  term  of  years.  The 
shutters  hung  off  plumb ;  the  lines  of  the  shallow  un- 
roofed porch  and  of  the  steps  leading  to  it  no  longer 
ran  in  parallels ;  one  pane  of  glass  in  the  street  door 
was  broken.  The  house  stood  back  a  way  from  the 
fronts  of  the  buildings  that  flanked  it,  and  in  the 
space,  on  each  side  of  the  uneven  brick  walk,  a  few 
handfuls  of  grass  struggled  to  make  a  lawn.   All  the 

33 


THE    CHARLATANS 

houses  in  the  block  were  commonplace;  No.  69  was 
only  a  little  less  attractive  than  its  neighbors. 

Madame  Jesurin  opened  the  door,  and  Hope  fol- 
lowed up  a  steep  dark  stairway  to  an  ill-lighted  hall, 
through  which  wandered  dismally  the  ghosts  of  in- 
numerable boiled  cabbages.  Our  Princess,  fresh  from 
the  sweet  airs  and  running  waters  of  her  happy  valley, 
felt  sure  she  could  not  make  a  home  in  such  a  shabby, 
smelly  place.  But  when  Madame  Jesurin  threw  open 
the  door  to  her  apartments,  things  looked  very  much 
better. 

"Eil  Ei!  Die  HeinzelmdnncJien  Tiahen  geholferl!" 
cried  Madame,  delighted.  "That  good  Mrs.  Grady — 
such  a  thoughtful  woman ! — has  prepared  everything 
against  my  home-coming.  Take  off  your  wraps.  Miss 
Winston.    We  shall  have  breakfast  at  once." 

She  bustled  into  another  apartment,  while  Hope  in- 
spected, with  interested  eyes,  the  combination  of  sleep- 
ing-chamber and  sitting-room. 

After  the  big  brass  bed,  with  its  pretty  figured 
counterpane,  the  largest  object  in  the  room  was  a  coal 
heater  reaching  more  than  half-way  to  the  ceiling.  It 
was  a  new  heater,  and  its  shiny  mica  eyes  gave  Hope 
a  smiling  welcome.  Two  good  pieces  of  furniture  were 
a  bird's-eye   maple  dressing-table   and  a  secretary- 


A    MODEST     ESTABLISHMENT 

bookcase,  on  which  stood  a  cheap  brass  lamp  with  a 
large  green-paper  shade.  A  couple  of  easy-chairs,  a 
good  carpet,  a  few  indifferent  prints  and  photographs, 
and  a  chenille-clad  shelf  laden  with  small  ornaments, 
completed  the  furnishings, — a  cozy  little  home. 

An  odor  of  drawing  coffee  floated  into  the  room,  and 
on  the  wings  of  it  came  Madame. 

"Mrs.  Grady  is  away,*'  she  announced.  "Such  a 
hard  worker,  and  without  profit  to  herself !  There  are 
such  people.  Always  she  is  helping  some  one  still 
poorer.   Come,  we  shall  now  have  our  coffee." 

Hope  followed  to  a  smaller  room  containing  a  table, 
four  deal  chairs,  a  couch  and  a  china  closet.  On  a 
stand  was  a  small  gas  stove  for  cooking,  but  this  was 
not  in  use:  through  another  doorway  was  visible  a 
huge  kitchen  range,  under  full  headway. 

"I  use  Mrs.  Grady's  stove  much  of  the  time,"  Ma- 
dame remarked.  "Such  an  accommodating  soul.  .  .  . 
Sugar  and  cream  in  your  coffee?" 

Hope,  though  half-famished,  attacked  the  scant 
breakfast  deliberately;  a  rush  would  have  instantly 
destroyed  it. 

"Pardon  me  while  I  peep  at  this  letter,"  said  Ma- 
dame. .  .  .  "jBi.'  Ell  here  is  good  luck,  in  which 
you  shall  share,  if  you  will." 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Two  tickets  and  a  printed  slip  fell  from  the  en- 
velope. 

"The  Symphony  concerts  begin  to-night.  You  are 
just  in  time.  One  of  my  pupils  has  sent  me  these  sub- 
scription seats;  she  can  not  use  them,  as  she  will  be 
out  of  town.  You  would  like  to  go .?" 

"Oh,  very  much,  indeed!"  cried  Hope,  her  face 
radiant.  She  had  never  heard  an  orchestra,  but  she 
thought  it  as  well  to  reserve  the  disclosure ;  Madame's 
credulity  had  been  sufficiently  tested. 

"Here  is  the  programme,"  said  the  Countess.  *'Let 
us  see  what  good  things  Herr  Herschel  has  in  store 
for  us."  She  propped  the  slip  of  paper  against  the 
sugar  bowl. 

"Herr  Herschel  is  the  conductor?"  Hope  hazarded. 
She  had  seen  the  name  in  the  newspapers. 

A  wonderful  man ;  he  is  reverenced  as  a  god.  .  .  . 
First,  Brahms's  Third  Symphony.  You  have  heard 
that.?" 

Hope  laughed  happily.  "I  have  heard  nothing ;  all 
will  be  new  to  me." 

Madame  put  on  a  profound  expression.  "Brahms 
is  very  difficult  to  understand ;  he  is  so  deep,  so  intel- 
lectual ;  so  different  from  Wagner." 

"Wagner  is  not  intellectual,  then.?" 


A     MODEST     ESTABLISHMENT 

"I  would  not  say  that ;  but  Wagner — ach,  he  is  so 
primal,  so  emotional." 

Hope  recalled  the  Second  Rhapsody.  If  Wagner 
were  more  emotional  than  Brahms,  it  might  be  well  to 
take  along  one's  smelling-salts  whenever  his  composi- 
tions were  on  the  programme. 

"Here  is  indeed  a  treat,"  continued  the  Countess; 
"Madame  Friedenthal  is  to  play." 

"Madame  Friedenthal.?" 

"Surely  you  have  heard  about  her.  Nein?  She  is 
the  greatest  of  women  pianists." 

"What  is  she  to  play.?"  Hope  asked  eagerly. 

"Grieg — Concerto  in  A-minor.  You  do  not  know 
that  either.?  Grieg  is  grand;  I  love  Grieg.  He  uses 
such  queer  chords.  You  should  hear  his  'Peer  Gynt.'  " 
Madame  hummed  a  few  measures.  "But  you  have  for- 
gotten to  eat;  your  chop  is  cold,  and  the  coffee  is 
frappe." 

She  refilled  the  cups. 

"After  intermission  comes  Richard  Strauss.  'Till 
Eulenspiegel'.  That  is  comical;  you  can  not  but 
laugh.  Nun,  Weber's  'Invitation  to  the  Dance',  ar- 
ranged by  Weingartner.  I  saw  him  one  day  in  Mu- 
nich." 

"Weber?" 

37 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Weingartner.  Weber  is  long  dead,"  Madame  Jes- 
urin  explained. 

«I  see." 

Madame  charted  a  sharp  look  at  her  young  friend. 
Hope's  face  was  innocence  itself. 

"Last," — Madame's  dark  eyes  almost  crackled, — 
"the  Prelude  to  'Die  Meistersinger' !  Wagner! 
Wagner!  ...  A  splendid  programme,  and  a 
wonderful  night  for  you.  The  hall  will  be  crowded; 
always  it  is  so  for  the  opening  concert.  All  the  mu- 
sicians will  be  there,  and  the  society  people  in  the 
boxes.  Helas!"  Madame  relapsed  into  the  language 
of  her  lamented  husband,  "how  I  wish  I  were  young 
again.    Think  of  it ! — ^your  first  great  concert." 

And  surely,  beloved  reader,  if  ever  envy  is  unselfish 
or  pardonable,  it  is  in  such  circumstances.  Have  you 
ever  postponed  a  craved  experience.?  Have  you  ever 
set  aside,  unread,  a  Shakespeare  play  ?  Have  you  put 
anything  by  for  the  rainy  day  of  middle  age?  It  was 
only  lately  that  the  writer,  in  a  moment  of  weakness, 
took  down  "King  Lear,"  afterward  to  go  forth  and 
rave  about  it  to  his  politely  astonished  friends.  Alas, 
that  gold  is  spent,  and  age  so  much  the  poorer ! 

Breakfast  over,  the  Countess  suggested  a  peep  at 
the  two  little  rooms,  with  a  view  to  renting.   With  her 

38 


A     MODEST     ESTABLISHMENT 

first  glance  at  them  Hope  forgot  the  disembodied  cab- 
bages that  haunted  the  hall. 

The  rooms  were  not  so  large  or  so  well  furnished  as 
Madame  Jesurin's;  but  as  they  gave  on  the  street, 
facing  east,  they  lay  open  to  the  morning  sunshine, 
which  was  now  flooding  them,  touching  with  Midas- 
fingers  the  cheap  furnishings,  and  glorifying  the  fea- 
tures of  Saint  Cecilia,  gazing  eternally  upward  from 
out  a  "process"  picture  on  the  wall.  In  place  of  the 
fine  brass  bed  which  Madame  possessed,  there  was  a 
plain  folding  affair;  and  Hope  liked  the  small  open 
coal  stove  much  better  than  the  huge  heater  in  the 
other  apartment.  Her  eyes,  after  remarking  a  pretty 
blue  carpet,  a  big  easy-chair,  a  sofa,  and  a  stand  with 
a  lamp  on  it,  returned  to  an  upright  piano  in  an  oak 
case.  Surely  it  could  not  be  true  that  this  went  with 
the  rooms. 

No.  As  Madame  explained,  this  had  been  hired  by 
the  young  ladies  who  lately  vacated  the  rooms,  and 
would  be  removed  unless  Miss  Winston  wished  to  re- 
tain it. 

Hope  had  a  moment  of  panic.  Piano  hire  was  an 
item  overlooked  in  the  home  councils. 

"How  much  would  it  be,  do  you  suppose.?"  she 
asked. 

S9 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Madame  thought  it  would  not  exceed  ten  dollars  the 
quarter. 

"And  these  rooms  ?" 

"Eight  dollars  the  month.  You  can  keep  house  for 
as  much  more,  including  the  fuel;  and  that  is  better 
than  you  can  do  in  a  boarding-house,  with  one  little 
room  to  live  in." 

While  Hope  was  deliberating  Mrs.  Grady  returned 
and  took  the  young  girl,  figuratively,  to  her  expansive 
bosom.  Mrs.  Grady's  manner  was  large  as  her  frame ; 
her  loud  laugh  bespoke  good  nature  rather  than  a 
vacant  mind.  She  had  been  absent,  as  Madame  Jesurin 
surmised,  on  an  errand  of  mercy. — That  poor  Mrs. 
White!  Such  a  deal  of  trouble  she  was  having  with 
two  sick  "childer,"  and  her  man  out  of  work  because 
of  the  strike. 

No,  the  vacant  rooms  were  not  yet  spoken  for ;  and 
sure,  Mrs.  Grady  would  be  highly  "plaized"  should 
they  be  to  the  young  lady's  liking.  At  this  juncture 
the  expressman  arrived  with  Madame  Jesurin's  trunk, 
and  when  he  departed  he  took  away  the  check  for 
Hope's  luggage. 

While  the  Countess  bustled  off  to  set  her  own  af- 
fairs in  order,  Mrs.  Grady  exhibited  to  the  new  tenant 
the  simple   machinery   of  their  joint   establishment. 

40 


A    MODEST     ESTABLISHMENT 


Z" 


One  of  the  cogs  was  Patrick,  a  protege  of  the  land- 
lady's. He  was  something  more  than  forty  years  old, 
but  he  "drank  like  sixty,"  in  the  phrase  of  his  patron, 
who  still  had  hopes  of  reforming  him.  Patrick 
brought  up  the  coal  and  took  away  the  ashes;  and 
Hope's  assessment  for  this  service  would  be  twenty- 
five  cents  weekly.  There  was  a  gas  stove  in  the  smaller 
of  the  rooms,  but  Miss  Winston  was  free  to  use  the 
huge  range  in  the  Grady  kitchen;  there  was  always 
room  on  it  for  one  more  pot  or  pan.  In  brief,  Mrs. 
Grady  and  her  possessions  were  at  her  tenants'  service. 
She  was  the  most  accommodating  soul  in  the  world,  as 
Madame  Jesurin  frequently  avowed. 

Nothing  could  be  more  agreeable,  reflected  Hope, 
and  she  was  glad  to  be  alone,  that  she  might  curl  up 
in  the  big  easy-chair  and  look  leisurely  about  her, 
mistress  of  all  she  surveyed. 

"This,"  she  remarked  to  herself,  glancing  about 
her  new  domain,  "this  is  something  like." 

Her  child-heart's  desire  to  "play  house"  was  satis- 
fied to  the  full.  Satisfied  also  was  a  craving  for  inde- 
pendence. Her  sensations  were  not  unlike  those  of  the 
man  who  has  pitched  his  tent  in  the  heart  of  the  wil- 
derness, and,  looking  about  him  as  the  night  closes 
in,  sees  everything  at  his  hand  necessary  to  his  exist- 

41 


THE    CHARLATANS 

ence.  The  "shadowed  leagues  of  slumbering  sound" 
beyond  the  circle  of  firelight  hold  no  disquietude  for 
his  soul. 

It  is  delightful  to  be  one's  own  mistress  at  eighteen, 
especially  when  one  is  bubbling  over  with  health  and 
high  spirits,  and  heart-whole  save  for  the  claims  of  a 
chosen  art.  Was  there  ever  so  fortunate  a  girl?  Hope 
hugged  her  knees  in  delight. 

A  long  wardrobe  in  the  room's  far  corner  caught 
her  glancing  eye.  She  ran  to  it,  and  found  the  back 
was  formed  of  folding-doors  that  once  gave  passage 
to  Madame  Jesurin's  apartments ;  the  light  came 
through  a  crack  in  one  of  the  panels.  Within  this  re- 
cess she  found  wash-stand,  chest  of  drawers,  and  many 
hooks ;  and  she  was  impatient  for  her  trunk  to  come, 
that  she  might  distribute  her  small  belongings. 

There  was  not  much  in  the  smaller  room ;  a  kitchen 
table  with  a  red  cover,  two  chairs,  a  gas  stove,  and  a 
china  closet  fashioned  from  a  packing-case,  the  orna- 
mentation of  which  suggested  that  the  inspiration  had 
come  from  the  Ladies'  Home  Companion. 

The  piano  proved  a  fairly  good  instrument ;  not  so 
sweet-toned  as  her  own,  but  firmer-actioned.  As  she 
sat  before  it  she  was  disturbed  by  the  reflection  that 
two  whole  days  had  passed  without  practice.    This 

42 


A     MODEST     ESJABLISHMENT 

should  not  happen  again.  She  would  work,  work. 
Nothing  should  take  her  mind  from  it.  No  distrac- 
tions should  lengthen,  by  so  much  as  a  day,  her  jour- 
ney to  the  goal  she  was  impatient  to  reach.  She 
clasped  her  hands  above  her  head,  and  looked  upward 
with  Saint  Cecilia. 

Madame  Jesurin  knocked  at  the  door  to  announce 
that  her  cupboard  was  as  bare  as  Mother  Hubbard's, 
and  that  she  was  going  a-marketing.  "You  will  wish 
to  lay  in  supplies  yourself,"  she  suggested ;  and  Hope, 
assenting  delightedly,  ran  for  her  hat. 

The  grocer  forgot  the  Saturday  rush  in  his  desire 
to  serve  the  fresh-faced  girl  who  took  so  remarkable 
an  interest  in  tea  and  coffee  and  butter  and  other  com- 
monplace commodities,  and  promised  that  the  things 
should  be  delivered  immediately,  even  if  he  had  to  hire 
an  extra  man  to  transport  them.  At  the  butcher's  the 
proprietor  of  a  restaurant,  who  had  been  waiting  his 
turn  to  place  a  large  order,  stepped  aside  with  a  smile, 
that  Hope  might  purchase  three  little  chops.  The 
baker's  Frau  beamed  upon  her.  The  coal  merchant 
felt  that  a  ray  of  sunshine  had  straggled  into  his 
grimy  box  of  an  office. 

The  watchful  eye  of  Madame  Jesurin  oversaw  every 
purchase,  and  Hope  learned  a  few  things  about  eco- 

43 


THE    CHARLATANS 

nomical  buying.  Economy  with  Madame  was  a  fine 
art.  As  she  explained,  she  had  fallen  upon  church- 
mouse  days  since  the  demise  of  her  never-to-be-for- 
gotten husband,  who  had  left  her  nothing  more  sub- 
stantial than  a  fragrant  memory. 

The  first  luncheon  in  the  new  home  proved  an  entire 
success ;  for  Hope  had  not  studied  Bach's  Inventions 
to  the  exclusion  of  Mrs.  Rorer's.  The  Countess  and 
Mrs.  Grady  were  invited  in,  and  accepted  with  pleas- 
ure, the  former  contributing  an  excellent  appetite,  the 
latter  a  pie. 

In  the  chatter  over  the  tea-cups,  apropos  of  early 
rising  and  late,  Hope  learned  that  Mrs.  Grady  was 
astir  mornings  at  as  young  an  hour  as  the  most  in- 
dustrious Swiftwater  agriculturist;  for  John  Grady, 
the  nominal  head  of  the  house,  expressed  his  soul  a 
great  distance  from  home,  and  must  ride  an  hour  and 
a  half  in  street-cars,  clinging  to  a  strap.  A  round- 
about way,  but  he  got  transfers ;  by  the  shorter  route 
he  must  pay  two  fares. 

"How  they  have  to  count  the  pennies!"  Hope 
thought.   "And  how  I  shall  have  to  count  them,  too." 

Madame  Jesurin  was  suddenly  reminded  of  Alice 
Winston  and  the  dream  chariot,  and,  receiving  per- 
mission from  Miss  Winston,  entertained  Mrs.  Grady 

44 


A     MODEST     ESTABLISHMENT 

with  the  tale.  That  genial  soul  bent  a  shrewd  glance 
on  the  face  and  figure  of  the  heroine,  who  was  at  that 
moment  peeping  into  the  tea-pot  to  cover  a  slight  con- 
fusion following  a  compliment  of  Madame's,  and  she 
remarked  with  the  air  of  a  prophet : 

"Ye'U  not  be  lackin'  princes,  mj  dear.  An'  sure,  the 
lucky  one  has  Ann  Grady's  congratulations." 


45 


CHAPTER  IV 


INTRODUCING   DOCTOR   RUDOLF   ERD- 
MANN   AND   MR.   ARTHUR   WEST 


In  a  neighborhood  of  imposing  buildings,  the  Colos- 
sus Conservatory  of  Music  was  architecturally  the 
most  remarkable.  Indeed,  the  red-and-gold  catalogue 
might  have  boasted  that,  in  addition  to  more  studios, 
more  instructors,  more  methods  than  any  similar  insti- 
tution, the  Colossus  possessed  more  architecture.  Just 
as  within  there  was  something  to  please  every  taste, 
so  without  there  was  something  to  take  captive  every 
eye. 

Lacking  the  catalogue,  which  contained  a  very  good 
picture  of  the  structure,  I  do  not  now  venture  to  say 
whether  in  this  architectural  opulence  there  was  more 
of  the  glory  of  Greece  than  the  grandeur  of  Rome,  or 

46 


INTRODUCING     DR.     ERDMANN 

whether  Rome  had  a  shade  the  better  of  it.  I  seem  to 
recall  a  Greek  colonnade  and  a  balustrade  of  the  same 
order;  the  broken  pediments  surmounting  the  sixth 
story  were,  I  believe,  Renaissance ;  and  I  am  under  the 
impression  that  the  Gothic  note  was  introduced  in  the 
elaborate  attic  story, — ^the  rest  is  hazy.  Only  one  de- 
tail need  be  commended  to  the  reader's  appreciation — 
the  crowning  glory  at  the  roof  line.  Who  that  has 
seen  them  can  ever  forget  the  six  statues  in  a  row.? — 
Bach,  Mozart,  Beethoven,  Schumann,  Schubert,  Wag- 
ner. What  could  be  finer? 

The  Colossus  was  narrow  and  deep,  and  ten  stories 
high.  Among  the  students  it  went  by  the  name  of 
"The  Grindstone,"  perhaps  from  the  tint  apd  texture 
of  the  rock  that  faced  its  walls,  but  more  likely  from 
the  suggestion  it  held  of  unremitting  activity. 

No  grindstone  whirled  more  busily.  Upon  its  fleet 
periphery  poured  an  unending  stream  of  dullness, 
whose  particles  were  polished  after  a  fashion,  then 
pushed  off  by  the  pressure  from  behind.  There  was 
space  above  the  portals  of  the  building  for  an  alle- 
gorical figure  of  a  Young  Lady  from  the  Provinces 
Turning  a  Grindstone;  but  the  idea  had  been  over- 
looked in  the  architectural  plans,  which  took  in  almost 
everything  else. 

47 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Our  young  lady  from  the  provinces,  unaccustomed 
to  a  crowd,  was  a  trifle  bewildered.  It  was  Saturday 
afternoon,  and  the  Grindstone  was  revolving  madly. 
A  stream  of  young  women  with  music-rolls  poured 
into  the  building,  while  another  stream  flowed  out ;  oc- 
casionally a  male  student  was  observable.  Four  ele- 
vators were  doing  a  "capacity"  business. 

"What  a  lot  of  people  are  interested  in  music !"  said 
Hope  to  herself.     "I  wonder  if  this  is  the  office." 

No ;  this  was  the  music  store,  and  curiosity  took  her 
the  length  of  it.  Every  stool  before  every  counter  was 
occupied,  and  as  many  more  people  waited  attention. 
A  young  man  with  piano  hair  requested  "the  Brahms 
waltzes,  for  four  hands";  the  clerk  departed  to  find 
out,  from  some  one  wiser,  who  Brahms  was.  A  man 
who  looked  as  if  he  might  be  a  music  teacher  was  tell- 
ing a  bright-faced  girl  that  she  ought  to  get  Hum- 
mel's  sonatas;  they  were  very  effective.  Over  in  a 
comer  a  blond  female  was  testing,  at  the  piano,  the 
effectiveness  of  the  latest  sentimental  song.  In  another 
comer  an  enraptured  crowd  had  gathered  around  a 
man  who  was  treading  a  mechanical  piano-player. 
Another  group  was  buying  concert  tickets;  still  an- 
other was  lined  up  before  the  cashier's  window,  paying 
for  pianos  on  the  instalment  plan. 

48 


INTRODUCING     DR.     ERDMANN 

Yes,  indeed ;  a  lot  of  people  are  interested  in  music. 

Hope  left  the  store,  and,  crossing  the  vestibule,  en- 
tered another  department.  This  looked  more  like  the 
office  of  the  Colossus,  and  it  proved  so  to  be.  A  great 
deal  seemed  to  be  going  on  here,  too.  Typewriters 
were  thumping  on  their  machines,  clerks  were  bustling 
from  desk  to  desk,  while,  outside  the  rail,  a  long  line 
of  Young  Ladies  from  the  Provinces  were  oiling  the 
Grindstone  through  the  cashier's  window. 

To  whom  should  Hope  apply.?  Perhaps  President 
Erdmann,  with  whom  the  correspondence  had  been 
held,  was  the  proper  person  to  see.  And  where  might 
Doctor  Erdmann  be  found  .^^ 

"Third  octave.  Take  the  elevator,"  an  office  boy  in- 
structed her. 

"I  suppose  he  means  third  floor,*^  said  Hope.  And 
as  everybody  seemed  to  be  using  the  elevators,  and  no- 
body the  stairs,  she  decided  to  walk.  The  term  "oc- 
tave" amused  her,  and  she  counted  to  see  whether  the 
octaves  contained  the  proper  number  of  "steps." 
Eight  was  right;  but  there  were  two  flights  of  steps 
to  each  story.  "So  really,"  said  Hope,  "the  presi- 
dent is  on  the  sixth  octave."  Evidently  the  bright 
person  who  had  coined  the  term  octave  had  not  taken 
the  steps  into  consideration. 

49 


THE    CHARLATANS 


The  second  floor  was  given  over  to  the  recital  hall. 
A  concert  was  going  on  here,  and  Hope  paused  to 
listen;  but  there  was  such  a  clatter  at  the  door  she 
could  hear  little  else,  so  she  proceeded  up  another 
double  octave. 

As  she  turned  the  first  flight  of  steps  she  collided 
with  a  young  man  who  was  running  down,  singing : 

^ j^— 


I 


im 


i 


^ 


'Ah. 


"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon !"  he  exclaimed,  and  was  off 
down  the  second  flight, — 


I 


^ 


^^ 


"Ah. 


As  Miss  Winston,  mystified,  went  on  her  way,  she 
heard  the  ascending  scale.  The  young  man  was  com- 
ing back— 


mm 

Ah 


^ 


^ 


They  reached  the  top  step  together. 
"Warm  work !"  he  remarked,  mopping  his  brow  and 
taking  a  deep  breath. 

50 


INTRODUCING  >-DR.    ERDMANN 

"I  should  think  it  might  be,"  said  Hope,  smiling. 
The  young  man  appeared  entirely  sane,  despite  his 
antics. 

"My  new  method !"  he  explained.  ^'Strengthens  the 
lungs  wonderfully.  If  one  is  going  to  sing  Wagner, 
one  must  have  lungs  like  a  blacksmith's  bellows,  or 
something  of  that  sort." 

Miss  Winston  assented  politely. 

"Screech,  scrape,  or  scramble?"  the  young  man  in- 
quired, putting  away  his  handkerchief.  "Pardon  me," 
he  added  less  volubly,  noting  her  puzzled  expression ; 
"I  took  you  for  one  of  the  students." 

While  he  spoke  he  looked  at  Hope  attentively,  and 
observed  that  she  was  rather  tall,  and  had  large  blue 
eyes  (or  were  they  gray.?)  set  wide  and  closely  neigh- 
bored by  level  brows,  the  lashes  long.  Her  hair  was 
chestnut,  with  glints  in  it,  brushed  down  plainly  on 
each  side  the  face,  and  massed  at  the  nape  of  a  long 
neck.   "She'll  do,"  he  decided. 

"Why — I  am  a  student,"  said  Hope;  "that  is,  I 
expect  to  be." 

"I  see."  He  nodded  and  smiled.  "  'Screech,  scrape 
and  scramble'  is  conservatory  slang.  What  I  meant 
was,  do  you  sing,  play  the  violin,  or  the  piano  .f*" 

"Oh!     .     .     .     I  scramble." 
51 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"And  I  screech — but  you  know  that.  What  method 
shall  you  take?" 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea.  But  I  hope  I  shan't  have 
to  run  up  and  down  stairs." 

"It  might  help  your  pedaling." 

"If  I  were  going  to  play  Wagner?  I  suppose 
there  are  lots  of  methods." 

"Dozens  of  them.  I  try  'em  all,  and  trust  to  luck  to 
hit  off  the  right  one.  May  I  introduce  myself?  My 
name  is  Arthur  West." 

His  eyes  politely  petitioned  for  a  like  revealment  of 
identity.   It  was  granted  graciously. 

Mr,  West  bowed.  "You  haven't  joined  the  Grind- 
stone's hallelujah  chorus  yet,  I  believe  you  said." 

"I  have  called  to-day  to  make  the  arrangements. 
Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  Doctor  Erdmann's  of- 
fice is." 

He  pointed  to  a  door  legended  "Private." 

"That  doesn't  mean  anything.  Walk  right  in." 

"Thank  you."  She  smiled  and  moved  away. 

Mr.  West  bowed  again,  and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand 
he  was  off,  singing  himself  down  the  stair.  His  com- 
pass appeared  to  be  two  octaves. 

There  never  was  any  difficulty  in  reaching  Doctor 
52 


INTRODUCING,- DR.     ERDMANN 

Rudolf  Erdmann.  As  Mr.  West  said,  the  "Private" 
on  the  outer  door  signified  nothing.  The  president  of 
the  Colossus  did  not  fence  himself  with  servitors  in 
livery.  Any  person  who  wished  to  see  him  so  informed 
his  secretary,  and  was  instructed  to  walk  in.  The 
Grindstone  revolved  smoothly.  Doctor  Erdmann  had 
nothing  on  his  mind  more  weighty  than  chatting  af- 
fably with  visitors  and  corresponding  with  the  Young 
Ladies  from  the  Provinces,  who  furnished  the  motive 
power. 

Doctor  Erdmann  was  a  large  man  and  handsome, 
as  the  portrait  in  the  catalogue  showed  him.  In  speak- 
ing of  this  portrait  it  was  mentioned  that  the  eyes 
were  dark  and  bold:  these  went  very  well  with  the 
thick  black  hair  and  heavy  mustache ;  and  for  a  man 
who  wrote  and  talked  such  a  deal  about  the  soul  and 
its  expression,  his  neck  was  a  trifle  too  short  and 
thick,  and  his  lips  were  over-full. 

His  manner  was  suave — "oily,"  said  a  few  persons 
who  did  not  like  him.  It  is  impossible  to  satisfy  some 
people,  who  twist  our  virtues  into  vices,  if  we  have  not 
the  luck  to  please  them. 

Doctor  Erdmann  was  unengaged  when  the  secre- 
tary announced  Miss  Winston.  His  greeting  was  sym- 
pathetically genial. 

53 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Miss  Winston?  Yes-yes.  Very  glad  to  see  you 
— ^very."  A  warm  hand-clasp,  a  look  of  frank  admira- 
tion. "Will  you  sit  down?  .  .  .  From  Swift- 
water — ^yes-yes.  I  recall  our  correspondence." 

Doctor  Erdmann's  "yes-yes"  was  the  quintessence 
of  his  suavity.  There  are  as  many  ways  of  saying 
"yes-yes"  as  of  spelling  "muskallonge."  As  Doctor 
Erdmann  enunciated  them,  each  syllable  was  a  purr, 
slightly  crescendo,  accompanied  by  an  assentant  nod. 

"We  talked  of  a  partial  scholarship,  I  believe,"  lie 
preluded. 

She  testified  to  the  excellence  of  his  memory. 

"Yes-yes.  .  .  .  Well — er — ^what  are  you  able 
to  pay.?" 

She  mentioned  the  sum  which  her  father  thought  he 
might  wrest  from  the  Winston  acres. 

"Yes-yes.  Hmh!  .  .  .  That  is  not  a  great 
deal,  not  a  great  deal." 

It  did  seem — now — ^ridiculously  small.  Hope  had 
another  moment  of  panic.     Suppose,  after  all — 

"However,"  Doctor  Erdmann  continued,  rubbing 
one  hand  over  the  other,  "our  motto  has  always  been, 
Encourage  talent  at  any  price.  No  student  should  be 
turned  away  so  long  as  she  has  a  dollar.  No  soul 
should  go  unexpressed." 

54 


INTRODUCING^  DR.     ERDMANN 

Hope  murmured  her  appreciation  of  this  Hberal 
pohcy. 

"Of  course,  in  the  case  of  a  partial  scholarship, 
where  the  conservatory  gets  what  it  can,  the  student 
— er — gets  what  she  can.  We  will  do  all  that  is  pos- 
sible. Miss  Winston." 

She  was  properly  grateful. 

"What  line  of  study  do  you  intend? — the  voice.'*" 
he  asked. 

"Piano." 

"Ah,  that  is  unfortunate.  A  fine  presence  counts 
for  so  much  in  the  vocal  field,  and  goes  for  so  little  in 
the  other.   Has  your  voice  ever  been  tried .?" 

Hope,  rosy  from  the  pointed  compliment,  replied 
that  she  sang  a  little,  but  had  never  thought  seriously 
of  her  voice.  Her  ambition  was  to  become  a  concert 
pianist. 

"Yes-yes.  Well,  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  succeed." 
("About  one  in  ten  thousand  does  succeed,"  the  twin- 
kle in  his  eye  added.)   "Do  you  intend  teaching.?" 

"I  do  not." 

He  turned  to  his  desk,  remarking :  "Then  you  wiU 
wish  the  artist,  not  the  business  course." 

As  he  picked  up  his  pen  Hope  noted  a  peculiar  ring 
of  Indian   workmanship   on  the  little  finger  of  his 

55 


THE    CHARLATANS 

plump  white  hand.  The  stone  was  a  cabochon  emerald 
set  in  a  band  of  dull  steel  inlaid  with  gold,  and  around 
it  was  coiled  a  golden  serpent. 

Doctor  Erdmann  wrote  something  on  a  card :  "Pre- 
sent this  at  the  office,"  he  said,  "and  your  application 
will  be  made  out  in  form.  The  examiner  will  then  hear 
you  play,  and  will  report  to  me.  If  the  report  is  favor- 
able, as  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  be,  your  studies  may 
begin  at  once." 

Hope  took  the  card,  saying  that  she  hoped  she 
should  prove  worthy  of  his  confidence. 

"You  have  the  artist  hand,"  he  said,  possessing 
himself  of  it.  "Strong,  rather  short  fingers ;  perhaps 
better  adapted  for  the  violin."  He  surrendered  the 
hand  reluctantly.  "Have  you  relatives  in  the  city .?" 

Informed  that  she  was  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land, 
he  referred  to  the  paragraph  in  the  catalogue  stating 
that  the  conservatory,  if  desired,  would  assist  students 
to  find  desirable  homes.  Miss  Winston  further  in- 
formed him  of  the  modest  establishment  at  No.  69  At- 
wood  Street. 

"Yes-yes,"  he  said,  "I  have  some  knowledge  of 
Madame  Jesurin.  An  excellent  woman ;  there  was  some 
talk  of  her  teaching  here.  Very  glad  you  are  so  pleas- 
antly located.  You  understand.  Miss  Winston,  we  feel 

56 


INTRODUCING  ^DR.     ERDMANN 

— er — a  certain  measure  of  responsibility  for  young 
ladies  intrusted  to  our  care." 

Another  warm,  very  warm  hand-clasp  as  Hope  rose 
to  go. 

"At  this  time  Monday,  my  dear  Miss  Winston.  I 
shall  have  the  examiner's  report  by  then."  He  accom- 
panied her  to  the  outer  door.  "The  report  will  be 
satisfactory,  I  am  sure.   Good  afternoon." 

His  beady  eyes  followed  her  until  she  turned  the 
stair,  and  the  sighting  poise  of  his  head  was  not  lost 
on  the  secretary,  who  remarked  familiarly  when  Doc- 
tor Erdmann  turned : 

"Mighty  pretty  girl  that." 

"Hmh!"  muttered  the  president  of  the  Colossus, 
^nd  returned  thoughtfully  to  his  desk. 

The  young  man  to  whom  Hope  presented  Doctor 
Erdmann's  card  asked  a  great  many  questions  in 
making  out  her  application  for  a  position  in  what  Mr. 
West  called  "the  Grindstone's  hallelujah  chorus." 
What  was  Miss  Winston's  age?  Had  she  ever  been 
declined  by  any  other  musical  conservatory.?  Was 
there  any  history  of  musical  talent  in  her  family.'^ 
With  whom  had  she  studied  last.?  Possibly  he  set 
down,  without  inquiry,  the  color  of  her  eyes  and  hair, 
and  noted  her  complexion.    She  was  then  directed  to 

57 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Professor  Notensatt,  Studio  No.  10,  fourth  octave; 
and  here,  in  the  anteroom,  she  found  two  other  young 
women  waiting,  while  from  behind  a  hght  swinging 
door  came  sounds  of  a  piano  under  torture. 

Presently  the  fearsome  noises  ceased,  and  a  young 
woman  emerged,  followed  by  a  youth  in  livery,  who 
beckoned  to  one  of  the  waiting  damsels.  Hope  did  not 
have  to  tarry  long  for  her  turn ;  the  examinations  w^re 
singularly  brief. 

Professor  Notensatt  was  a  stoop-shouldered, 
gaunt-faced  man  with  weary-looking  eyes.  He 
glanced  carelessly  through  Miss  Winston's  applica- 
tion paper,  then  jerked  an  arm  toward  the  piano. 

"Play!"  he  said. 

She  sat  to  the  instrument  nervously.  "What  shall 
I  play.?"  she  asked. 

"Anything,"  he  replied  indifferently. 

"Bach.?" 

"Bach  will  do." 

She  discharged  a  three-part  Invention  at  him. 

"Very  good!"  he  said,  and  his  voice  betrayed  an 
awakened  interest.  "Play  something  else," — as  she 
rose. 

She  sat  down  again,  uncertain  whether  to  feel  en- 
couraged or  the  reverse.     Neither  of  the  damsels  who 

58 


INTRODUCING     DR.     ERDMANN 


/" 


preceded  her  had  played  twice;  perhaps  their  talent 
was  more  obvious. 

"Shall  I  play  a  Beethoven  Sonata?" 

"One  movement  will  suffice." 

She  selected  the  last  movement  of  the  "Moonlight" 
— dear  old  battered  composition. 

The  examiner  made  no  comment,  further  than  to 
say,  "That  will  do."  But  he  had  come  out  of  his 
trance  of  indifference;  that  was  something. 

Flushed  with  this  small  triumph,  Hope  tripped 
springily  down  the  stair,  humming  the  scale  after  the 
fashion  of  Mr.  Arthur  West,  and  smiling  at  recollec- 
tion of  him. 

There  was  time  before  dinner  to  write  a  long  letter 
home,  in  which  she  set  down  a  faithful  account  of  her 
adventures  to  date.  An  inclosure  was  for  Alice  Win- 
ston. 

"Dear  little  sister,"  it  ran,  "I  have  wandered  a  long 
way,  and  have  had  a  very  good  time.  I  have  not  yet 
come  upon  any  houses  made  of  gingerbread,  nor  have 
I  met  with  any  fairies;  but  then,  I  have  not  really 
needed  anything,  and  fairies  do  not  appear  unless  you 
are  in  some  sort  of  distress.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
have  not  had  to  flee  from  any  dwarfs  or  witches, 
though  I  was  almost  run  down  in  the  street  by  a  big 

59 


THE    CHARLATANS 

red    dragon    with    shiny    eyes    and    dreadful    gassy 
breath. 

"I  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  only  one  Prince 
thus  far,  and  I  am  afraid  that  he  isn't  the  one  with  the 
purple  chariot,  as  he  does  not  answer  your  description. 
He  is  not  tall  and  slender,  but  short  and  inclined  to  be 
stout ;  and  he  has  blue  eyes  and  light  hair  which  curls 
very  prettily.  He  is  a  singer,  and  his  name  is  Arthur 
West.    Your  affectionate  sister, 

"Princess  Hope." 


60 


CHAPTER  V 


CONCEENING   A   CONCERT,   AND   SOME 
PEOPLE   WHO   WEBE   THEEE 

Hope  was  a-tingle  from  top  to  toe. 

The  immense  auditorium,  resplendent  in  red  and 
gold,  the  multitudinous  lights,  the  adumbrations  be- 
hind-scenes  of  the  wonderful  music  to  come, — rill  of 
melody  from  flute,  sigh  from  horn,  strident  fifth  from 
violin, — ^the  chatter,  the  laughter,  the  gleaming 
shoulders  and  the  jewels  of  Society,  the  scent  of  royal 
roses:  what  fairy  court  could  match  it? 

A  bell  rang  sharply. 

"Here  come  the  band!"  cried  Madame  Jesurin. 
"How  like  ants  they  swarm  in,  nicht  wahr?  ,  .  . 
The  applause  Is  for  the  favorites,"  she  shrilled  in  her 

61 


THE    CHARLATANS 

companion's  ear.  "See!  That  is  Bruckner  who  has 
just  entered — ^the  large  man  with  the  'cello.  Behind 
him — ^that  little  chap — is  Herr  Trautmann,  the  con- 
certmeister.    He  is  fine ;  he  never  misses  a  note !" 

Madame  prattles  to  inattentive  ears :  Hope's  atten- 
tion is  riveted  to  the  picture  in  the  great  gilt  frame 
of  the  proscenium  arch.  Elbows  on  balcony  rail,  face 
between  hands,  rapt,  she  watches  the  stage  door  for 
the  entrance  of  Herr  Herschel,  who,  Madame  has  said, 
is  reverenced  as  a  god.  She  trembles  with  excitement 
when  a  door  opens  and  a  man  with  music  comes  out. 
But  it  is  only  the  librarian ;  the  audience  continues  to 
chatter. 

Again  the  door  opens,  and  this  time  there  is  no 
mistake.  The  hall  rings  with  the  cheers  of  thousands 
and  the  fanfare  of  the  band,  which  one  hears  only  on 
opening  night.  Hope  presses  her  hands  tightly 
against  her  cheeks. 

Silence. 

The  conductor  has  bowed  his  acknowledgments,  and 
is  facing  his  men.  Hope  closes  her  eyes;  but  the 
picture  remains  with  her,  and  scarcely  less  vivid.  She 
draws  a  quick  breath  when  Herr  Herschel  raps  smartly 
against  his  music-stand;  and  though  her  eyes  are 
lidded,  her  leaping  heart  anticipates  the  loud,  long 

62 


CONCERNING    A     CONCERT 

chords  that  usher  in  the  Third  Symphony  of  Johannes 
Brahms. 

Her  face  aches  from  the  pressure  of  her  hands ; 
but  with  the  first  stroke  of  the  buoyant  opening 
melody  the  tension  is  reheved,  and  she  is  floating,  float- 
ing— ^in  cockle-shell  of  Culprit  Fay,  on  the  wayward 
waters  of  the  Mad  River;  whirling  through  rapids, 
drifting  over  deep  and  unvexed  pools,  blown  hither 
and  thither  by  the  winds  of  counterpoint ;  out  of  sun- 
shine into  shadow,  and  out  into  the  light  again;  in 
her  ears  the  underbreath  of  wind-stirred  tree-tops,  the 
piping  of  birds,  the  rumbling  of  Parnassian  thunders, 
the  faint  notes  of  Titania's  trumpets,  invitation  to  an 
elfish  dance.     .     ,    . 

You  and  I,  reader,  as  we  realize  regretfully,  are  no 
longer  capable  of  this  detachment,  this  complete  ab- 
sorption. When  we  go  to  a  concert  we  take  along  our 
business  and  domestic  affairs,  and  we  do  not  check 
them  at  the  door,  with  our  hats  and  opera  cloaks.  Let 
Beethoven  thunder  as  he  will,  and  Schubert  carol,  and 
Tschaikowsky  weep,  we  give  them  only  part  of  our  at- 
tention. Americans  spend  more  money  on  music,  and 
hear  less  of  it,  than  any  other  people  on  the  globe. 

It  isn't  that  we  do  not  care  to  listen;  we  simply 
can  not  listen  as  we  should.    What  seem  to  us  the  im- 

63 


THE    CHARLATANS 

portant  things  of  life  are  with  us  always ;  we  can  not 
escape  from  them ;.  we  fancy  we  have  put  them  by, 
but  they  pop  into  our  heads  unbidden  and  unwelcome. 

With  an  occasional  exception.  I  have  in  mind  a 
legal  gentleman,  really  fond  of  music,  who  confesses 
that  he  welcomes  a  concert  whenever  he  has  a  per- 
plexing case  to  turn  over  in  his  mind.  He  finds,  he 
tells  me,  that  music,  particularly  orchestral  music, 
lubricates  his  brain  machinery ;  and  he  traces  his  suc- 
cess in  a  certain  celebrated  case  to  the  stimulating  in- 
fluence of  Beethoven's  Seventh  Symphony.  To  what 
practical  uses  may  the  product  of  our  genius  come, 
Horatio!    .... 

Hope  unclosed  her  eyes  with  a  start.  The  audi- 
ence was  applauding,  and  Herr  Herschel  was  bowing. 

"Always  there  is  a  wait  after  the  first  movement, 
to  allow  late-comers  to  take  seats,"  Madame  Jesurin 
said,  in  explanation  of  the  band's  idleness.  "Was  it 
not  fine.^  I  perfectly  adore  Brahms,  even  though  he  is 
so  hard  to  understand.    Did  you  not  find  it  difficult  ?" 

Hope  drew  a  deep  breath.  "It  was  very  beautiful. 
Did  it  mean  something  besides  that.?" 

^'Gewiss,  It  is  all  here — in  the  programme  notes. 
They  are  written  by  Doctor  Dudelsack,  of  your  con- 
servatory.    One  should  read  them  while  the  music  is 

64 


CONCERNING    A    CONCERT 

playing.    See,  in  the  next  movement  of  the  Symphony 
you  shall  observe  this : 

"  'In  soundless  solitudes  of  mountain  heights  things 
unutterable  save  in  tones  of  sweetest  harmony  move  you, 
as  step  by  step,  to  clarinets  and  added  flutes  and 
horns,  the  gray  colors  of  dawn  merge  with  those  of  deep- 
est orange,  then  of  brightest  gold,  of  radiant-faced  Day, 
or  as  the  heavy  robe  of  twilight  settling  down,  to  clari- 
nets doubled  in  lower  fagots,  brings  rest  and  peace  to 
man  and  beast,  and — 

"  '  "ijher  alien  Gipfeln  ist  Ruh; 
In  alien  Wipfeln—"'" 

Madame  got  no  further.  Herr  Herschel  rapped  at- 
tention; the  buzz  of  conversation  died,  as  the  wind 
dies  in  woods ;  the  serene  Andante  of  the  symphony  be- 
gan. And  again  Hope  floated  away  in  her  fairy  craft, 
drifting  on  brown  water  among  reeds;  listening,  now 
to  the  quiet  narrative  of  the  song-sparrow,  now  to  the 
plaintive  appeal  of  the  meadow-lark. 

Yes;  it  was  difficult  to  understand,  this  music; 
everything  is  that  is  beautiful:  the  first  marsh-mari- 
golds of  spring,  shadows  sweeping  over  meadows, 
pelting  showers  from  a  laughing  sky,  the  rose-light 
over  the  valley,  the  many,  many  voices  of  the 
river.      ... 

65 


THE    CHARLATANS 

The  general  chatter  broke  out  afresh;  the  players 
set  their  instruments  in  tune ;  Conductor  Herschel  re- 
tired. 

Hope  turned  to  the  programme.  The  next  number 
was  Madame  Friedenthal's :  "Grieg — Concerto  for 
pianoforte,  A-minor,  Opus  16." 

"How  is  it  possible  to  hear  the  piano  above  the  or- 
chestra?" she  asked  Madame  Jesurin. 

"Ach,  that  is  the  artist.  You  shall  see.  Madame 
Friedenthal  rides  in  the  whirlwind  and  directs  the 
storm.    She  has  hands  and  arms  of  steel." 

A  ripple  of  applause  betokened  the  reentrance  of  the 
conductor,  who  paused  for  a  word  with  the  concert- 
master.  Hope  folded  her  arms  across  the  rail  and 
watched  the  stage  door  intently,  imaging  a  massive 
woman  with  village  blacksmith  hands  and  arms,  bared 
for  action,  passing  the  portal  with  majestic  stride. 
Instead,  a  woman  of  slight  physique,  whose  shoulders 
stooped  a  little,  entered  hurriedly  and  half -ran  (per- 
haps "tripped"  would  be  better)  to  the  piano.  With 
one  hand  resting  on  the  instrument,  she  bowed  right, 
left,  and  straight  ahead,  then  took  her  seat. 

Herr  Herschel,  leaning  on  his  desk,  awaited  her 
nice  adjustment  to  the  work  in  hand.  This  required 
half  a  minute  or  more.     Madame  placed  her  feet  on 

66 


CONCERNIN[.G    A    CONCERT 

the  pedals,  and  prepared  her  skirts  against  a  possible 
entanglement.  She  rose  and  depressed  the  piano  stool 
perhaps  an  inch.  She  sat  down  and  adjusted  her 
skirts  a  second  time.  She  hitched  the  stool  a  bit  for- 
ward and  a  trifle  to  one  side.  She  gave  a  final  critical 
glance  at  her  feet.  Satisfied,  she  placed  her  crumpled 
handkerchief  at  the  right  of  the  keyboard,  and  folded 
her  hands  in  her  lap.    Herr  Herschel  lifted  his  baton. 

Hope  hardly  heard  the  opening  measures  of  the 
concerto.  Her  mind  was  on  the  pianist.  "How  self- 
possessed!"  she  thought.  "How  wonderfully  calm! 
It  is  I  that  am  nervous." 

Should  she  ever  dare  to  front  so  vast  an  audience, 
even  were  opportunity  to  come.f^  Oh,  the  toil  to  win 
to  such  a  moment:  imagination  sought  to  compass  it. 
She  had  worked  so  hard,  yet  knew  so  very  little — a 
few  pages  of  Bach,  of  Beethoven,  of  Czerny.  What 
a  ridiculous  figure  she  would  cut  in  Madame's  place : 
an  autumn  leaf  on  the  wings  of  the  whirlwind,  yet  pre- 
suming to  direct  the  storm ! 

Thrice-blessed  Princess  Hope!  She  had  builded 
better  than  she  knew,  and  was  wiser  than  she  thought 
herself.    Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  the  great.    .    .    . 

The  tempest  blew  itself  out.  The  concerto  was 
ended,  and  the  house  rose  at  Madame  Friedenthal. 

67 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Conductor  Herschel  congratulated  her,  and  a  part  of 
the  orchestra  followed  her  from  the  stage. 

The  performance  astounded  Hope,  but  nobody  else 
seemed  surprised ;  those  about  her  applauded  heartily, 
noisily;  but  she  read  no  astonishment  in  their  faces. 
It  was  all  so  old  to  them,  so  new  to  her.  But  can  such 
work  ever  cease  to  challenge  amazement  ? 

She  remarked  something  of  the  sort  to  Madame 
Jesurin. 

"Nobody  thinks  about  technic  these  days,"  said 
the  Countess. 

"But  I  did  not  seem  to  listen  to  the  music  itself.  It 
was  not  like  the  symphony." 

"Concertos  are  addressed  to  the  head,  not  to  the 
heart.    They  are  show  pieces  for  the  fingers." 

"Then  why  should  nobody  think  about  technic?" 

"She  will  play  again,"  the  Countess  exclaimed,  her 
attention  on  Madame  Friedenthal,  who,  after  half  a 
dozen  recalls,  was  again  at  the  piano.  "It  will  be  a 
Chopin  nocturne,  I  hope.    I  love  Chopin !" 

But  instead,  Madame  Friedenthal  played  Schubert's 
"Hark,  Hark,  the  Lark"  (the  Liszt  arrangement), 
and  Hope  experienced  a  new  emotion.  The  Grieg  had 
interested  and  amazed  her ;  the  Brahms  had  stirred  the 
depths  of  her  soul,  but  had  left  her  clear-eyed.     Now 

68 


CONCERNING    A     CONCERT 


r' 


the  appeal  of  simple,  exquisite  beauty  brought  a  lump 
into  her  throat,  and  her  eyes  filled.  She  had  a  de- 
sire to  rise,  to  soar  with  the  lark,  to  sing  at  Heaven's 
gate.  She  clutched  the  arms  of  her  seat:  the  pianist 
fascinated  her ;  she  felt  impelled  toward  her  as  ship's 
nails  to  magnetic  mountain.  But  the  stage  was  so  far 
away,  and  the  abyss  between  frightened  her.  .  .  . 
Madame  Jesurin  gently  squeezed  her  arm;  the  touch 
restored  her. 

"She  is  a  witch!"  declared  the  Countess,  when  the 
pianist  vanished.  A  young  man  beside  her  turned  his 
head,  nodded  and  smiled.  Madame  had  echoed  his 
thought. 

Acclamation  eliciting  no  further  favors  from  the 
pianist,  the  audience  began  to  rise  for  the  intermis- 
sion. Madame  Jesurin  suggested  that  they  descend 
to  the  foyer,  to  glimpse  a  few  celebrities. 

With  these  the  Countess  seemed  to  have  at  least  a 
visual  acquaintance;  and  as  they  circled  with  the 
stream  she  pointed  out  significant  chips  on  the  current. 

That  portly  dame  in  green  silk  was  "old  lady 
Keith,"  the  famous  dowager,  a  prodigious  tuft- 
hunter.  Ach,  that  distinguished-looking  gentleman 
with  the  pompadour  was  Doctor  Dudelsack,  who 
wrote  the  analytical  notes  for  the  Symphony  pro- 

69 


THE    CHARLATANS 

grammes.  That  dreamy  individual  with  the  mop  of 
black  hair  was  a  pianist,  famous  in  the  concert  world 
for  his  Chopin  playing,  and  in  divorce  courts  for  his 
incompatibility  of  temper.    And  so  on.    .    .    . 

In  an  eddy  of  the  stream,  whither  a  counter-current 
drifted  them,  Hope  came  on  Mr.  Arthur  West.  His 
face  expressed  his  pleasure  at  this  second  meeting. 

"Great  night,  isn't  it?"  he  said  gaily.  "Frieden- 
thal's  a  wonder.  May  I  present  Miss  Matheson.?  Miss 
Winston,  Flora." 

The  tall,  fashionably-gowned  young  woman  who 
accompanied  Mr.  West  murmured  her  pleasure,  and 
both  were  charmed  to  make  acquaintance  of  Madame 
Jesurin. 

"Friedenthal  uses  the  Leschetitzky  method,"  Mr. 
West  informed  Miss  Winston.  "I  call  it  the  best 
of  the  lot,  though  Miss  Matheson  pretends  to  have 
found  a  better." 

Miss  Matheson  declined  debate.  "Are  you  study- 
ing at  the  Colossus.?"  she  asked  Hope. 

"I  begin  next  week." 

"She  scrambles,"  Mr.  West  volunteered. 

Madame  Jesurin  was  enlightened  as  to  the  term. 
She  laughed  her  little  diatonic  laugh.  "American 
slang  is  so  picturesque.    I  love  it." 

70 


CONCERNING    A     CONCERT 

They  cited  certain  felicities  in  our  shirt-sleeved 
vernacular,  Hope  shyly  observing  Mr.  West's  com- 
panion. 

A  man's  criticism  would  have  been  summed  up  in  the 
word  "thoroughbred."  Flora  Matheson  was  a  large, 
shapely,  vital  young  woman,  compelling  masculine 
admiration,  disarming  her  sex's  criticism.  A  girl 
of  high  spirit,  you  would  say;  withal  no  trace  of 
haughtiness.  Miss  Winston  decided  she  would  like 
Miss  Matheson  if  circumstances  threw  them  together. 

They  spoke  of  Richard  Strauss,  next  on  the  pro- 
gramme. Madame  Jesurin  had  seen  him  once,  on  the 
Ringstrasse  in  Vienna. 

"Churchill  Gray  knows  him  very  well,"  Miss 
Matheson  remarked  to  Mr.  West. 

"Speak  of  angels,"  said  the  young  man.  "There's 
Church  yonder,  talking  with  Karl  Geist." 

At  the  name  Geist,  Miss  Winston  pricked  up  her 
ears,  and,  following  the  direction  of  Mr.  West's  nod, 
she  saw  the  original  of  the  portrait  in  the  red-and- 
gold  booklet. 

She  had  fancied  Geist  tall,  but  he  lacked  half  a 
head  of  it,  and  he  was  physically  slight.  As  to  the 
face,  the  portrait  failed  of  justice, — a  gentle  schol- 
arly   face;    a    winning   personality,    if   eye-evidence 

71 


THE    CHARLATANS 

were  trustworthy.  Geist  was  in  street  dress,  the 
wrinkles  in  which  attested  his  indifference  to  things 
sartorial.  His  black  bow  tie  with  flowing  ends  was 
negligently  adjusted,  a  soft  brown  hat  was  crushed 
under  his  arm,  a  red  carnation  was  fastened  in  his 
coat. 

The  gentleman  with  whom  he  was  talking  was  In 
evening  dress.  His  back  was  turned  toward  Hope, 
but  the  tall  slender  form  seemed  curiously  familiar. 
The  negligent  attitude,  the  tilted  head,  the  trick  of 
passing  hand  through  hair,  clamored  at  the  gates  of 
her  memory;  yet  the  circle  of  her  acquaintances  was 
so  small  that  she  could  account  for  every  person  in 
it.  She  wished  Mr.  Gray,  as  his  name  appeared  to  be, 
would  turn  his  head ;  but  he  was  listening  attentively 
to  Karl  Geist,  who  talked  rapidly  and  earnestly,  with 
many  nervous  gestures. 

"  'Till  Eulenspiegel',  yes,  that  Is  not  so  difficult  to 
understand,"  Madame  Jesurin  was  saying.  "But 
'Zarathustra' ! — ach,  that  is  a  hard  nut  to  crack." 

"I  decline  to  break  my  intellectual  teeth  on  It," 
said  West.  "But  here  comes  a  capital  pair  of  nut- 
crackers." 

Geist  and  his  companion  were  approaching,  but 
only  Geist  reached  them ;  Gray  was  captured  by  "old 

n 


Their  eyes  met  for  an  instant  Page  yj 


CONCERNING    A     CONCERT 

ladj  Keith,"  who  tapped  him  amicably  with  her  fan. 
Hope  now  had  a  view  of  his  face ;  it  was  not  one  she 
had  seen  before — in  her  present  incarnation,  at  least. 

Mr.  Geist  was  presented  to  Madame  Jesurin  and 
Miss  Winston. 

"And  how  did  you  like  the  concerto?"  Miss  Mathe- 
son  asked  him. 

"Good  work,"  he  replied.  "But  too  fast,  quite  too 
fast." 

"This  is  a  rapid  age,  Herr  Professor.  We  must 
keep  up  with  the  metronome." 

"The  devil's  metronome.  One  can't  hear  the  music 
for  its  infernal  clatter."  He  shrugged.  "Technic 
worship;  speed  madness.     They  all  get  it." 

"Friedenthal's  a  wonder,"  Mr.  West  again  affirmed. 
"She's  got  more  tricks  than  a  Hindoo." 

"Tricks?"  Geist  smiled  scornfully.     "Hard  work." 

Miss  Matheson  sighed.  "Well,  that^s  a  trick,  and 
one  I  despair  of  learning." 

"Many  of  us  know  the  trick,  but  do  it  clumsily," 
said  Madame  Jesurin. 

"Well,  to  me  it  seems  very  much  like  making  an 
omelette  in  a  gentleman's  high  hat,"  West  protested, 
in  support  of  his  sleight-of-hand  theory. 

"That,  too,  requires  a  world  of  technic,"  Miss 
73 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Matheson  declared.  And  to  Geist:  "What  were  you 
and  Churchill  talking  about  so  earnestly?" 

"The  Brahms  quintette." 

"I  love  Brahms !  He  is  so  intellectual !"  Madame 
Jesurin  took  occasion  to  exclaim. 

"Mr.  Gray  is  also  a  Brahms  enthusiast,"  said 
Flora.  "He  and  Mr.  Geist  have  some  hot  arguments 
over  Johannes." 

**Gray  plays  favorites;  I  don't,"  Geist  observed 
dryly. 

"And  what  was  the  particular  bone  of  contention 
to-night.?" 

^'Why,  I  merely  remarked  that  Brahms  should  have 
made  his  quintette  a  quartette,  as  he  didn't  know  what 
to  do  with  his  second  violin." 

Miss  Matheson  laughed:  "The  king  can  do  no 
wrong.  Of  course  Churchill  would  deny  that  his  be- 
loved Brahms  was  ever  in  doubt  about  anything. 
Are  you  fond  of  Brahms,  Miss  Winston  ?" 

"I  have  heard  only  to-night's  symphony — and  a 
rhapsody,"  Hope  answered. 

"Oh,  yes,"  nodded  Flora.  "I  have  a  chum,  Rhoda 
Weathers,  who  is  working  on  one  of  the  rhapsodies — 
the  second,  I  believe." 

A  bell  signaled  the  end  of  the  intermission,  and  the 
74 


CONCERNING     A     CONCERT 

little   party   dispersed,   with  expressions   of  mutual 
pleasure  in  the  encounter. 

As  Hope  moved  toward  the  staircase,  Churchill 
Gray,  released  from  his  detaining  dowager,  brushed 
by.  Their  eyes  met  for  an  instant,  and  her  heart  beat 
rapidly  as  she  went  up  the  stair — perhaps  from  the 
exertion  of  the  climb. 


75 


CHAPTER  VI 


AN  OLD  RELIGION  AND  A  NEW  WOMAN 


Happy  as  a  lark,  without  the  lark's  proclivity  to 
early  rising,  Princess  Hope  lazed  amid  the  draperies 
of  her  couch  in  a  flood  of  morning  sunlight.  Her 
abundant  chestnut  hair,  borrowing  gold  from  Phoebus, 
rippled  over  the  pillow.  Plump  throat  and  rounded 
arms  to  match  the  muslin's  whiteness  were  grudgingly 
revealed  by  the  unfastened  short-sleeved  nightrobe, 
watchful  as  duenna  of  the  charms  it  screened.  Her 
hands  were  clasped  beneath  her  head;  her  eyes  were 
curtained  against  the  sunlight ;  along  her  parted  lips 
a  smile  played  lambently.  She  was  in  tune  with  the 
instant  and  the  infinite — spiritually,  sensuously  con- 
tent. 

What  a  yesterday !  Its  history  was  traced  in  char- 
76 


AN     OLD     RELIGION 

acters  of  gold  that  danced  before  her  inward  eye  like 
Wordsworth's  daffodils.  Midnight  had  struck  before 
she  sought  her  rest ;  for  Madame  Jesurin's  tongue,  set 
in  motion  by  the  "Meistersinger"  prelude,  had  run  on 
"Lohengrin,"  and  "Tannhauser,"  and  "The  Ring  of 
the  Niebelungen",  from  the  aquatics  of  the  Rhine 
Maidens  to  the  passing  of  Walhalla  and  its  gods.  A 
visitor  from  Mars  would  not  have  barkened  to  the 
story  of  our  planet  more  eagerly  than  Hope  listened 
to  this  most  fascinating  tale  of  faery.  In  consequence 
she  had  not  troubled  to  light  her  scant  preparations 
for  slumber,  and  had  literally  tumbled  into  bed. 

She  glanced  around  the  room,  and  vowed  a  penance 
for  her  lack  of  tidiness.  Shoes  and  bonnet,  stockings, 
gown,  were  tossed  about  in  a  "sweet  disorder"  scarcely 
to  bewitch  even  the  poet  of  "Hesperides."  Her  eye 
lighted  on  the  concert  programme,  lying  beside  the 
bed,  and  she  reached  for  it,  smilingly  recoUective  of 
the  raptures  of  Doctor  Dudelsack. 

The  concert  being  sped,  it  might  be  well  to  learn 
what  it  was  all  about;  for  evidently  'twas  a  most 
recondite  matter.  She  turned  to  the  notes  descriptive 
of  the  symphony,  and  continuing  where  Madame 
Jesurin  had  broken  off  (omitting  the  Goethe,  which 
she  did  not  understand),  she  read: 

77 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"And  then  again,  when,  pregnant  by  the  sun's  warm 
beams,  the  mountains  do  with  diamonds  teem,  the  danc- 
ing nymphs  (woodwind  doubled  above  and  below)  to 
play  invite;  and  peasants  young  and  old  surcease  of  sor- 
row seek  in  laughter,  frolic  song.  Now,  in  deepest  tonal 
brown,  steal  in  the  double-basses,  fearful  of  disturbing 
the  matutinal  hush.  And  now,  awed  by  the  dazzling 
sight  (chords  in  brass,  obligato  in  strings),  the  harmonies 
again  take  wing  and  vanish,  the  birdlet  fearing  to  do 
aught  but  lisp  in  evanescent  tones.     ... 

Pshaw!  The  rays  of  morning  reduced  Dudelsack 
to  a  mush.  Hope  flung  the  programme  at  the  wall 
and  dropped  back  among  the  pillows. 

.  It  was  Sunday  morning ;  the  house  was  not  yet 
astir;  the  piano  need  not  be  opened;  and  it  was  so 
pleasant  to  laze  and  call  back  yesternight — the  mu- 
sic, the  lights,  the  faces :  one  face  among  all  the  others, 
seen  for  an  instant  only,  but  unf orgetable :  a  dark 
face,  with  forehead  high  and  rounding  back,  and  full 
over  steady  hazel  eyes. 

The  Prince  of  the  Heart  of  Gold !  Oh,  there  wasn't 
a  doubt  of  it. 

"Churchill,"  Miss  Matheson  called  him ;  "Churchill 
Gray."  She  murmured  the  name  softly,  twice.  Yes, 
it  fitted ;  it  was  not  commonplace,  nor  was  it  "novelly." 
He  was  young,  and  uncommonly  good  to  look  on ;  he 

78 


AN     OLD     RELIGION 

was  a  Brahms  enthusiast,  and  he  knew  Richard 
Strauss  very  well :  this  was  the  sum  of  her  knowledge. 
Was  he  a  musician?  Probably.  She  would  know  in 
good  time. 

Puff!  A  breeze  from  the  Land  of  Common  Sense 
blew  her  soap  bubbles  all  away.  "Hark,  Hark,  the 
Lark"  scampered  through  her  head,  and  the  sugges- 
tion shamed  her  lie-abed  laziness.  She  sprang  up, 
humming  the  tune,  and  began  to  set  herself  and  her 
establishment  in  order. 

Madame  Jesurin  came  in  after  breakfast  to  inquire 
whether  her  young  friend  was  a  church-goer.  Hope 
was  able  to  reply  that  when  at  home  she  attended 
services  in  Vanceburg  as  regularly  as  the  weather  per- 
mitted. Church-going  was  a  convention  in  the  Wins- 
ton family,  faithfully  observed  except  when  the  roads 
were  uncommonly  bad.  As  to  religion,  she  had  no 
preference ;  all  creeds,  she  hoped,  were  good. 

Madame  Jesurin  likewise  avowed  the  most  liberal  at- 
titude toward  religion.  Some  people  complain  that 
there  are  too  many  creeds;  that  was  nonsense,  said 
Madame.  There  are  as  many  soul-needs  as  creeds; 
and  certain  restless  souls  not  easily  satisfied  (Madame 
for  one),  must  search  years  before  they  find  the  par- 
ticular creeds  they  crave. 

79 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Hope  was  reminded  of  Mr.  Arthur  West  and  vocal 
methods.  "I  try  'em  all,"  said  that  young  man,  "and 
trust  to  luck  to  hit  off  the  right  one." 

"Of  late  years,"  remarked  Madame,  "I  have  turned 
more  and  more  to  the  occult,  and  at  present  I  am  much 
interested  in  the  faith  of  Buddha.  This  morning  I 
attend  the  first  Buddhist  services  to  be  held  publicly 
in  this  city.     Perhaps  you  would  like  to  go." 

Miss  Winston  thought  it  would  be  interesting. 

It  proved  to  be. 

The  services  were  held  in  the  parlor  of  a  third-rate 
hotel,  and  some  fifty  persons,  for  varying  reasons, 
were  gathered  to  attend  them.  Madame  Jesurin  and 
Hope  took  seats,  and  exchanged  good  mornings  with 
a  friendly  dame,  who  spoke  approvingly  of  the 
weather.  Madame  Jesurin  quoted  George  Eliot's  apos- 
trophe to  autumn ;  and  while  her  elders  discussed  a  re- 
markable October,  Hope  looked  about  her  curiously, 
contrasting  the  incongruous  mise  en  scene  and  motley 
audience  with  the  church  auditorium  and  congregation 
of  convention. 

Ten  or  a  dozen  well-dressed,  alert-looking  women, 
a  newspaper  man,  and  a  score  of  Japanese  made  up 
the  bulk  of  the  audience ;  the  rest  invited  the  adjective 
nondescript:  faded  folk,  scant  of  chin  and  forehead, 

80 


AN     OLD   RELIGION 

vacuous-eyed,  oddly  attired — first  to  flock  to  the  feet 
of  a  new  Messiah,  or  to  give  assent  to  the  proposition 
that  we  of  earth  are  living  at  the  center  of  a  globe  of 
glass;  or  that  our  planet  is  a  plane,  or  an  isosceles 
triangle.  There's  nothing  round  or  flat,  but  think- 
ing makes  it  so. 

In  an  American  metropolis  one  can  start  a  new  re- 
ligion at  any  time,  at  any  street  comer.  All  one 
needs  is  a  strong  voice  and  a  soap-box,  and  the  latter 
need  not  be  insisted  on.  If  one  operate  at  night  a 
torch  will  be  found  useful :  it  attracts  moth-souls,  and 
has  its  value  as  a  symbol.  For  creed,  a  few  facts,  such 
as :  a  straight  line  is  the  shortest  distance  between  two 
points ;  the  sun  is  ninety-three  millions  of  miles  from 
the  earth ;  Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day.  From  these 
premises  one  may  reason  to  any  desired  conclusions. 
The  recipe  for  a  new  religion  is  not  unlike  that  for 
rabbit  pie:  first  catch  your  major  premise;  the  rest 
is  simple. 

Bits  of  the  whispered  conversation  between  the 
friendly  dame  and  Madame  Jesurin  came  to  Hope's 
ears;  as:  "That  is  Mrs.  West,  nearest  to  Sister 
Isabelle;  Mrs.  West  is  president  of  our  woman's 
club.  Sister  Isabelle  spoke  to  us  Thursday  night; 
she  is  Spanish,  and  was  formerly  a  Catholic  nun." 

81 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Hope's  eyes  traveled  to  Mrs.  West,  a  tall  woman 
handsomely  gowned  in  black,  who  sat  a  little  apart 
from  the  rest  of  the  audience ;  thence  to  Sister  Isabelle, 
a  frail  body,  robed  and  bonneted  in  white,  whose  thin, 
austere  face,  Ht  by  the  candle-gleam  of  the  Past,  con- 
trasted sharply  with  the  complacent  features  of  the 
club-woman,  illuminated  by  the  arc-light  of  the  Pal- 
pitating Present. 

"I  perfectly  adore  the  occult,"  Madame  Jesurin  was 
saying,  when  Sister  Isabelle  rose,  to  enjoin  silence  with 
a  gentle  gesture. 

"We  shall  begin  with  music,  if  some  one  will  vol- 
unteer." She  indicated  a  piano.  "Almost  anything 
will  do,"  she  entreated,  with  a  smile  of  rare  sweet- 
ness. 

No  one  rising  immediately,  Madame  Jesurin  turned 
to  Hope:    "Will  you  not  oblige,  Miss  Winston?" 

Miss  Winston  held  back,  embarrassed  under  the 
glances  turned  in  her  direction;  but  as  nobody  else 
was  able  or  willing  to  respond,  she  got  up  at  last  and 
crossed  to  the  piano,  wondering  what  she  could  play 
that  would  not  be  inappropriate  to  so  solemn  an  oc- 
casion. "Almost  anything,"  Sister  Isabelle  had  said ; 
perhaps  the  Andante  from  the  "Sonate  Pathetique," 
which  was  grave  and  sweet,  would  answer.     Encour- 

82 


AN     OLD     RELIGION 

aged  by  a  nod  and  a  smile  from  Mrs.  West,  she  be- 
gan it. 

Her  "debut"  passed  off  creditably.  She  played  tht 
Andante,  she  thought,  better  than  ever  before.  An 
offering  to  Buddha,  it  seemed  to  require  a  meaning,  or 
a  beauty,  more  than  musical,  and  this  she  hoped  she 
had  given  to  it ;  but  whether  she  had  been  able  to  com- 
municate her  mood  to  her  listeners  she  could  not  say. 
When  she  returned  to  her  seat  Madame  Jesurin  beamed 
on  her,  pressed  her  arm,  and  whispered:  "Grand!  I 
love  that!" 

The  service  went  on.  Sister  Isabelle  read  the  Scrip- 
tures and  interpreted  the  sublime  verities  of  Gautama. 
These  made  no  strong  appeal  to  Hope's  imagination. 
To  a  young  woman  of  eighteen,  vibrant  with  the  joy 
of  living  and  stirred  by  remembrance  of  a  pair  of 
steady  hazel  eyes.  Nirvana  is  a  particularly  empty 
word.  The  Offering  of  the  Flowers  enlisted  her  more 
sympathetic  interest,  perhaps  because  of  the  incon- 
gruity of  symbols  and  ideas,  rather  than  in  spite  of 
it.  A  third-rate  hotel  is  a  poor  temple;  the  marble 
footing  of  a  tawdry  mirror  is  a  barren  altar;  and  a 
hotel  pitcher,  so  suggestive  of  ice,  chills  the  warmest 
imagination. 

After  the  "sermon,"  a  little  talk  on  Christ  and 
83 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Buddha  and  the  many  points  they  had  in  common,  the 
simple  services  were  done.  Mrs.  West,  first  on  her 
feet,  as  an  alert  club-woman  should  be,  in  a  clear, 
pleasantly-modulated  voice  thanked  Sister  Isabelle,  in 
behalf  of  the  audience,  for  the  pleasure  and  the  profit 
that  were  theirs.  One  naturally  assumed  that  the 
"affair"  had  been  held  under  the  auspices  of  the 
Woman's  Club.  Mrs.  West  then  undulated  to  Hope, 
sprayed  her  with  a  smile,  and  thanked  her  for  the 
lovely  music. 

Mrs.  West's  conversational  voice  was  pitched  much 
lower  than  her  club  voice ;  her  manner,  too,  was  much 
less  crisp. 

"I  suppose  I  am  more  interested  in  music  than  in 
any  other  art,"  said  the  lady,  with  an  air  suggesting 
multitudinous  irons  in  the  intellectual  fire.  "I  have 
a  son  who  is  devoted  to  it." 

Miss  Winston  surmised  that  the  son  alluded  to  was 
Mr.  Arthur  West;  he  was  assuredly  devoted  to  vocal 
music,  and  daily  gave  proofs  of  a  strenuous  allegiance. 
She  was  very  glad,  she  remarked,  that  Mrs.  West  had 
enjoyed  her  small  musical  offering. 

**I  hope  to  hear  you  play  again,"  the  lady  mur- 
mured, and  receded  as  a  wave. 

"Was  it  not  interesting!"  exclaimed  Madame  Jes- 
84 


AN     OLD   RELIGION 

urin,  when  she  and  Hope  at  last  set  their  faces  toward 
home. 

Hope  assented.  "But  I  do  not  understand  why 
Mrs.  West  thanked  Sister  Isabelle." 

"Oh,  these  new  women !"  cried  the  Countess.  "They 
think  they  are  running  the  universe." 

"Still,"  said  Hope,  "it  was  for  us  she  thanked  the 
Sister — not  for  Buddha." 

Madame  laughed,  and  thought  her  young  friend 
rather  bright. 


35 


CHAPTER     VII 


THE      BROAD      WAY      TO      PARNASSUS 


''I  am  much  pleased  by  the  examiner's  report  on 
your  case,"  Doctor  Erdmann  said,  when  Miss  Win- 
ston presented  herself  on  Monday  afternoon. 

He  read  from  the  record :  "Technic,  good ;  rhythm, 
perfect;  tone,  good;  interpretation,  intelligent;  re- 
marks— symptoms  of  genius." 

Miss  Winston  smiled.  The  diagnosis  was  most  en- 
couraging. If  there  were  no  heart  complications  she 
would  likely  get  on  famously. 

Doctor  Erdmann  gave  her  a  typewritten  slip.  "A 
schedule  of  your  lessons,"  he  said. 

"All  these!"  She  glanced  down  the  long  list.  "I 
86 


BROAD     WAY^O     PARNASSUS 

had  no  idea  there  were  so  many  branches  of  musical 
study." 

"Yes-yes.  The  artist's  course  covers  a  great  deal 
of  ground,  but  under  our  system  the  student  gets  over 
this  ground  wonderfully  fast.  Not  a  moment  is 
wasted ;  every  tick  of  the  clock  means  progress." 

She  examined  the  schedule  curiously.  "Are  all  the 
lessons  fifteen  minutes  long?" 

*'A11  class  lessons,  except  lectures,  are  a  quarter- 
hour  in  length;  one  minute  is  allowed  for  changing 
classes.  You  will  perceive  the  necessity  for  absolute 
promptness." 

She  could  not  fail  to. 

"Yes-yes.  You  will  notice  I  have  included  vocal  in- 
struction: it  will  do  no  harm  to  try  out  your  voice. 
There  are  in  addition  many  lectures  and  recitals: 
these  are  free,  and  you  may  attend  what  you  have 
time  and  taste  for.  Your  first  lesson,  you  will  observe, 
is  for  four  o'clock, — it  is  nearly  that  now, — in  studio 
Number  Eight-twenty-two." 

She  rose,  and  Doctor  Erdmann  accompanied  her,  as 
on  her  previous  visit,  to  the  outer  door,  pressing  her 
hand  at  parting. 

"Do  you  find  your  present  lodgings  satisfactory.?" 
he  inquired  solicitously. 

87 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"In  Atwood  Street?  Yes;  I  think  I  shall  continue 
to  like  them." 

"Yes-yes ;  I  hope  so.  But  Atwood  Street  is  a  great 
way  from  the  conservatory;  you  may  wish  to  live 
nearer.  Should  you  decide  to  make  a  change,  pray 
inform  me.  I  have  a  list  of  extremely  desirable  homes 
for  students." 

She  thanked  him.  It  was  kind  to  take  so  personal 
an  interest  in  the  conservatory's  thousands  of  stu- 
dents. 

"The  library  adjoins  my  office,"  he  said.  "You  will 
find  in  it  a  large  collection  of  books  on  music." 

She  drew  her  fingers  away.  "I  am  greatly  obliged 
to  you.  Doctor  Erdmann.     Good  afternoon." 

As  Hope  left  the  elevator  at  the  eighth  octave,  a 
gong  sounded;  then  another,  and  another — a  great 
banging  of  gongs,  some  on  floors  above  and  some  be- 
low. With  the  echoes  studio  doors  were  flung  open, 
and  students  poured  into  the  corridor. 

Mercy!  she  thought,  was  the  building  afire.''  No; 
classes  were  changing — that  was  all.  The  corridor 
emptied  as  rapidly  as  it  filled.  The  Grindstone  went 
on  whirling. 

Hope  located  studio  No.  822,  and  opened  the  door 
' — a  full  minute  late. 

33 


BROAD     WAY^TO     PARNASSUS 

Along  one  wall  of  the  room  ran  a  bench  or  table,  on 
which  a  line  of  students  was  practising  some  sort  of 
callisthenics.  At  a  signal  they  rose  on  their  toes, 
hands  high  and  fingers  arched,  and  at  another  signal 
pitched  forward  upon  the  bench. 

"Something  like  kneading  bread,  only  more  vio- 
lent," Hope  said  to  herself. 

Observing  a  new  student,  the  teacher  came  forward 
and  placed  Hope  at  the  end  of  the  line. 

"Do  as  the  others  are  doing,"  she  said. 

Hope  imitated  as  best  she  could,  and  at  the  first  at- 
tempt came  down  so  heavily  that  she  thought  all  her 
fingers  were  broken.  "Relax  more,"  she  was  directed. 
She  relaxed. 

"This  is  to  acquire  volume  of  tone,"  the  instructor 
informed  her.  "The  table,  you  understand,  is  a  piano. 
D'Albert,  the  Little  Giant  of  the  Keyboard,  follows 
this  plan,  practising  on  a  pianvil.  .  .  .  There, 
you  are  getting  it  better.  Try  to  imagine  yoursel?  a 
wave,  breaking  on  the  beach." 

"That  is  more  poetical  than  bread-making,"  Hope 
reflected,  cresting  and  combing  with  the  other  break- 
ers. "We  shall  see  some  spray  presently,  if  my  hair 
keeps  coming  down." 

Following  this  strenuous  drill  there  were  lighter 
89 


THE    CHARLATANS 

gymnastics  for  the  fingers  alone,  and  a  most  ingenious 
exercise  for  acquiring  independence  of  hands. 

This  exercise  was  more  difficult  than  it  seemed. 
The  reader  who  may  have  tried  the  foolish  old  trick 
of  rubbing  the  stomach  with  one  hand,  round  and 
round,  and  patting  the  top  of  the  head  with  the  other, 
probably  never  imagined  it  might  be  put  to  an  ad- 
mirable educational  use.  Pray  imagine  fifty  students 
performing  this  drill,  while  a  metronome  ticks  the 
tempo.  What  better  preparation  for  the  perfect  prac- 
tice of  the  gospel  of  Bach:  "Let  not  thy  left  hand 
know  what  thy  right  hand  docth"?  The  exercise  is 
cheerfully  recommended  to  all  piano  students  who  have 
difficulty  with  cross-rhythm.  When  you  can  rub  your 
stomach  in  common  time  while  you  pat  your  head  in 
three-four,  dual  rhythm  will  have  no  further  terrors 
for  you. 

When  the  gong  sounded  Hope  consulted  her  sched- 
ule, and  found  she  was  due  in  No.  8S0;  and  as  this 
studio  was  on  the  same  octave,  she  was  only  half  a 
minute  late.  She  guessed  it  was  her  vocal  exercise 
when  she  saw  Arthur  West  in  the  double  row  of  stu- 
dents. He  remarked  her  at  the  same  instant,  and 
shifted  his  position  to  the  end  of  his  line,  that  she 
might  stand  beside  him. 

90 


BROAD     WAY     TO     PARNASSUS 

"What  is  it?"  she  whispered.  "  *Money  Musk'  or 
Virginia  reel  ?" 

^'Ah-h-hr^  he  replied  mysteriously  and  in  the  spirit 
of  her  query,  "awfully  jolly  to  have  you  for  a  part- 
ner.   Didn't  know  you  screeched." 

"I  don't,"  she  confided.  "I'm  just  having  my  voice 
'tried  out' — rendered,  you  know." 

A  Japanese  parasol  was  placed  in  her  hands,  and 
she  held  it  before  her,  as  the  others  did,  ready  to  open 
at  a  signal. 

"You  sing  'Ah,'  "  the  instructor  advised  the  new 
student,  "increasing  the  tone  as  you  open  the  parasol. 
This  produces  a  perfect  crescendo.  .  .  .  One, 
two,  three,  singT' 

The  parasols  opened  slowly  and  evenly  to  a  cho- 
rused Ah  that  swelled  from  pianissimo  to  forte;  at 
another  command  they  closed,  diminuendo.  This  ex- 
ercise was  repeated  until  the  class  was  dismissed. 

"Great  method,  eh?"  said  West  very  enthusiastic- 
ally. 

"Splendid!"  Hope  agreed. 

"Are  you  down  for  the  tongue  and  towel?  That 
comes  next." 

"I  have  only  one  more  lesson,  and  that  is  piano." 

"I'll  be  through  for  the  day  myself  in  ten  minutes. 
91 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Fine  weather  outside.  If  jou  don't  object,  Miss  Wins- 
ton, I  suggest  a  walk  down  the  avenue." 

Miss  Winston  made  no  objection. 

"My  mother  tells  me  she  met  you  yesterday  at  a 
Hindoo  revival,  or  something  of  that  sort.  She  says 
you  scramble  divinely." 

"Mrs.  West  spoke  very  kindly  of  my  playing." 

"Mother  knows  the  real  thing  when  she  hears  it. 
She  composes,  you  know — songs ;  all  the  leading  song- 
birds sing  them." 

"Oh,  how  interesting!"  Miss  Winston  conceived  a 
high  opinion  of  Mrs.  West  as  a  composer. 

Arthur  laughed:  "They  can't  help  it,  you  know. 
Mother  dedicates  the  songs  to  them." 

His  laugh  was  infectious;  but  neither  of  them  in- 
tended disrespect  to  the  stately  Mrs.  West. 

"My  next  method  must  be  about  due,"  said  Hope, 
referring  to  her  schedule. 

"In  ten  minutes,  then,"  said  Arthur,  smiling. 

She  nodded,  and  left  him  ringing  the  elevator  bell. 

The  lair  of  Professor  Jan  Van  Wart,  sometimes  re- 
ferred to  as  the  Studio  of  the  Soul,  was  on  the  sky- 
light octave,  and  contained  more  furnishings  than  one 
sees  in  the  usual  studio.  Besides  the  piano,  there  was 
a  large  wardrobe  (beyond  the  door  of  which  no  stu- 

92 


BROAD     WAY     TO    PARNASSUS 

dent  eye  had  penetrated),  an  easy-chair,  and  a  writing 
table  httered  with  manuscript  scores.  The  floor  was 
rugged,  and  the  walls  were  covered  with  portraits  of 
musicians,  the  great  ones  being  represented  many 
times.  There  were  at  least  twenty  portraits  of  Liszt, 
showing  the  Abbe  at  all  ages;  for  Professor  Van 
Wart,  as  the  Grindstone  catalogue  advised  one,  was 
Liszt's  "favorite  pupil."  On  the  mantel  were  many 
curious  relics  of  the  Abbe.  Most  treasured  were  a 
cigarette  stub  which  the  master  once  tossed  away  with- 
out a  thought  of  its  value,  a  collar-button  lost  during 
an  exciting  lesson,  and  the  pen  with  which  the  syrupy 
Liehestrdume  was  written. 

Hope  loitered  near  the  Studio  of  the  Soul,  waiting 
for  the  gong.  When  it  sounded  the  door  opened  and 
a  damsel  emerged.  She  turned  on  the  new  student  a 
pair  of  big  brown  eyes,  uttered,  in  a  tone  of  solemn 
warning,  the  one  word  "Beethoven,"  and  glided  to- 
ward the  elevator.  Looking  after  her,  Hope  thought : 
"How  like  a  ghost  she  moves !" 

The  studio  was  in  half-light,  and  Hope  did  not  at 
once  perceive  Van  Wart.  She  closed  the  door  softly, 
and  presently  made  out  the  professor,  a  roly-poly 
figure  in  the  depths  of  the  easy-chair.  He  was  not 
bad-looking.    To  be  sure,  his  high,  straight  forehead 

93 


THE    CHARLATANS 

was  corrugated  in  a  "frightful,  frantic,  fearful 
frown"  worthy  of  the  Lord  High  Executioner  him- 
self, and  above  this  was  flung  back  his  wild  unparted 
mane;  but  there  were  dimples  in  his  chubby  cheeks, 
and  the  lines  around  his  mouth  were  persistently  mirth- 
ful. He  was  staring  fixedly  at  a  large  portrait  of  Bee- 
thoven above  the  mantel. 

Hope  Coughed  softly,  and  this  failing  to  draw  his 
attention  she  took  seat  on  the  piano  stool  and  looked 
curiously  about  the  studio.  At  last  Van  Wart  turned 
his  head  and  fixed  his  dreamy  eyes  on  her. 

"Play,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  remote.  Hope  turned  to 
the  keyboard. 

What  should  it  be?  .  .  .  Beethoven,  of  course. 
The  girl  with  the  brown  eyes  had  said  the  word,  and 
Van  Wart's  absorption  in  the  portrait  showed  the 
drift  of  his  meditations.  The  very  atmosphere  of  the 
studio  was  charged  with  Beethoven. 

She  poised  her  hands  for  the  last  movement  of  the 
"Moonlight  Sonata",  which  had  proved  effective  with 
Herr  Notensatt;  but  suddenly  reflecting  that  Van 
Wart's  dreamy  mood  and  the  twilit  studio  were  better 
matched  by  the  first  movement,  she  played  that  in- 
stead. 

With  the  opening  measures  the  professor  rose  and 
94 


w 


The  professor  rose  and  paced  slowly  to  and  fro      Page  g^ 


BROAD     WAY     TO     PARNASSUS 

paced  slowly  to  and  fro,  one  hand  thrust  in  his  waist- 
coat. His  mane  had  tumbled  down  his  brow,  his  big 
bow  tie  was  in  disorder,  his  upturned  eyes  rolled  in  a 
fine  frenzy. 

He  stopped  beside  the  piano.  "Louder!  Louder!" 
he  commanded  irritably. 

"But  it's  marked  pianissimo !"  exclaimed  Hope, 
dropping  her  hands,  respect  for  authority  submerged 
in  surprise. 

Van  Wart  struck  his  forehead  with  a  clenched  fist. 
''Ach,  Gott!  my  deafness !" 

"Oh,  the  poor  man !"  thought  Hope.  "I  should  have 
played  the  last  movement." 

Feeling  it  was  useless  to  go  on  with  the  Adagio,  she 
played  the  Presto,  forte  throughout. 

"There !" — concluding  with  a  thumping  chord — "if 
you  can't  hear  that  you're  hopeless." 

Van  Wart  turned,  with  what  sounded  suspiciously 
like  a  chuckle,  and  depositing  his  pudgy  self  in  the 
easy-chair,  resumed  his  study  of  Beethoven's  face. 
Mystified,  and  a  trifle  annoyed,  Hope  picked  up  her 
gloves  and  marched  out  of  the  studio. 

Another  damsel  was  in  waiting. 

"What  is  he  to-day.?"  she  whispered,  her  hand  on 
the  door-knob. 

95 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Crazy,"  Hope  replied  briefly,  and  without  pausing 
in  her  march.  "Oh!" — suddenly  recalling  the  exit  of 
the  girl  with  the  brown  eyes,  and  turning  her  head — 
"Beethoven !" 

"Thanks,"  said  the  other,  and  passed  in. 

Evidently  "Beethoven"  was  a  countersign. 

Arthur  West  tarried  below.  He  was  in  high  spirits, 
and  Hope  forgot  her  annoyance  at  sight  of  his  smil- 
ing face. 

"I've  just  heard  of  a  splendid  thing,"  he  said,  as 
they  strolled  down  the  boulevard.  "A  voice-rectifier 
and  tone-cultivator,  or  something  of  that  sort.  Shaped 
like  a  wedge,  and  when  you  put  it  in  your  mouth  it 
gives  just  the  right  opening  of  the  teeth.  When  the 
mouth  is  in  position  you  sing.   Price  fifty  cents." 

"How  curious !  I  never  dreamed  that  learning  to 
sing  was  such  a  complicated  matter." 

"Oh,  It's  simple  enough  if  you  get  hold  of  the  right 
method.  All  luck,  you  know." 

"What  is  the  'tongue  and  towel'  you  spoke  about.? 
Is  that  another  method.?" 

"Why," — Arthur  launched  enthusiastically  into  the 
exposition, — "the  tongue  Is  an  unruly  member,  es- 
pecially with  young  singers.  It  rises  in  the  back  of 
the  mouth,  and  stiffens  itself  so  it  blocks  the  passage 

96 


BROAD     WAY     TO     PARNASSUS 

of  the  tone.  Now,  this  obstruction  must  be  removed, 
you  know." 

Hope  agreed  that  the  unruly  member  should  be  ex- 
pelled in  some  way,  short  of  cutting  it  out. 

"Some  genius — I  forget  his  name — adopted  the 
simple  expedient  of  seizing  the  tip  of  the  tongue  with 
the  fingers  encased  in  toweling,  and  drawing  it  for- 
ward until  the  throat  is  open.  Then  you  screech." 

"Simplicity  itself." 

"Some  teachers  claim  that  the  best  results  are  ob- 
tained by  using  a  studio  towel,  imbued,  as  it  were, 
with  the  spirit  of  true  tone,  and  well  trained." 

Miss  Winston  thought  it  would  be  much  nicer  to 
have  individual  towels.  She  fancied,  too,  that  after 
the  towel  had  learned  its  owner's  peculiarities  it  would 
serve  him  better  than  one  which  had  the  tribulations 
of  many  aspiring  students  on  its  mind. 

"Mine  has  troubles  of  its  own,"  said  Arthur  rue- 
fully.   "Did  you  have  a  good  lesson  ?" 

"No,  indeed.  The  teacher  was  deaf  as  an  adder. 
How  absurd!" 

"Deaf?  Oh-h-h!  Van  Wart!  Weren't  you  told 
about  him.f*" 

"Not  a  word." 

The  young  man  chuckled.  "There's  nothing  the 
97 


THE    CHARLATANS 

matter  with  Van  Wart's  ears  except  their  size  and 
shape.  This  must  be  his  Beethoven  day.  Sit  mooning 
at  a  portrait  of  the  old  man .?" 

"Yes;  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  like  one 
possessed." 

"That's  it;  that's  the  method.  He  communes  with 
the  spirit  of  the  master." 

"Indeed !  And  where  do  I  come  in .?" 

"Oh,  you  draw  inspiration  from  the  master  through 
Van  Wart;  he  radiates  it;  he's  a  medium.  The  audi- 
ence is  invited  to  step  forward  and  see  that  the  cabinet 
is  empty." 

Hope  took  half  a  minute  to  digest  this  interesting 
information.  "Well  .  .  .  Beethoven  must  have 
been  feeling  pretty  grumpy  to-day.  That's  all  the  in- 
spiration I  got." 

"I  dare  say."  West  laughed.  "Better  luck  next 
time.  I  mean,  you  know,  that  every  day  isn't  Bee- 
thoven day  with  Van  Wart.  Most  of  the  students  like 
his  Chopin  act  best ;  though  some  prefer  Wagner  day, 
when  he  wears  nothing  but  silk  and  velvet,  and  talks 
politics  all  through  the  lesson.  But  you  want  to  watch 
out  for  him  on  Liszt  days — though  he  doesn't  mean 
anything." 

"Why,  how  does  he  perform  on  Liszt  days .''" 
98 


BROAD     WAY^O     PARNASSUS 

Arthur  gave  her  a  quick  side  glance.  Her  eyes 
were  innocently  curious. 

"Ask  Flora  Matheson,"  he  replied. 

Conversation  halted;  then  Hope  remarked:  "Is 
Miss  Matheson  a  student  at  our  conservatory?" 

"She  studies  vocal  there,  and  piano  with  Mrs.  Sudo. 
You'll  have  to  get  Miss  Matheson  to  tell  you  about 
the  Sudo  method ;  it's  over  my  head.  Something  about 
circles.  .  .  .  Hello,  there's  Church  Gray  ahead 
of  us,  looking  in  the  art-store  window.  May  I  present 
him?  Awfully  good  chap." 

Hope  murmured  an  assent,  conscious  of  a  height- 
ened color. 

Mr.  Churchill  Gray's  acknowledgment  of  the  intro- 
duction consisted  of  a  repetition  of  the  words  "Miss 
Winston"  and  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head.  His 
eyes  were  less  aloof. 

"I'd  have  presented  you  Saturday  night  if  Ma 
Keith  hadn't  pounced  on  you,"  West  remarked. 

"I  recall  seeing  Miss  Winston  in  the  foyer,"  said 
Gray. 

Hope's  heart  thumped.  He,  too,  had  remembered ! 

Gray  glanced  back  to  the  shop  window. 

"What  have  you  found  now  that's  good?"  asked 
Arthur. 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Nothing  new — a  picture  of  Brahms;  an  impres- 
sion, a  memory  sketch,  I  beheve.   Very  good  copy." 

"Oh,  is  that  Brahms?"  exclaimed  Miss  Winston, 
vastly  interested. 

"That's  the  man,"  said  Gray. 

Arthur  took  off  his  hat  in  mock  reverence.  "Good 
old  Brahms !" 

Hope  stole  a  look  at  Gray's  face,  and  noted  that  the 
mouth  was  singularly  sweet  and  tenderly  mirthful, 
though  nuptialed  to  a  serious  chin. 

"What  is  Brahms  playing,  do  you  suppose?"  she 
asked. 

"His  D-minor  Capriccio,  it  pleases  me  to  think," 
Gray  answered.  "The  left  hand  tops  the  right  in  that 
fashion." 

"Curious-looking  old  chap,"  said  West.  "Built 
something  like  Van  Wart." 

"Oh !"  expostulated  Hope. 

"A  modern  writer  throws  a  light  on  Brahms's  pe- 
culiar architecture,"  said  Gray,  with  a  smile.  "In  one 
breath,  almost,  he  observes  that  Brahms  was  'not 
knee-high  to  Beethoven,'  yet  'his  shoulders  were  broaH 
enough  to  bear  the  imposing  weight  of  Beethoven's 
mantle.'   That  would  seem  to  account  for  his  squatti- 


100 


BROAD     WAY    TO     1>  A  R  N  A  S  S  U  S 

"The  dachshund  of  composers,"  remarked  Arthur 
irreverently. 

"He  has  a  beautiful  face,"  said  Hope,  looking  wist- 
fully at  the  picture. 

"Are  you  interested  in  Brahms,  Miss  Winston.?" 

Did  she  merely  imagine  it,  or  was  there  just  the 
suggestion  of  a  sneer  in  the  inquiry  ? 

"I  know  nothing  about  Brahms,"  she  answered  in- 
differently, and  turned  from  the  window. 

Gray  raised  his  hat,  and  they  separated. 

"Awfully  brainy  chap,"  said  West,  when  he  and 
Hope  resumed  their  stroll. 

"Yes.?"  she  replied,  without  enthusiasm. 

"  'Way  up  in  music,  so  Karl  Geiteti  &d j4  ^jid  Geist 
knows  all  there  is  to  know  about  it."  •••,-,  " ,  ' , 

"Mr.  Gray  is  a  musician,  then."         -        '     '»'  •  '•     ' 

"He  writes  about  music;  he's  the  Posfs  critic. 
Knocks  the  musicians  good  and  hard,  and  they  pre- 
tend to  Hke  it." 

"He  looks  as  if  he  might  write  and  say  provoking 
things." 

"Do  you  think  so?  Well,  he's  a  good  fellow,  for  all 
that.  You'll  fancy  him." 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  Hope  impassively. 

On  the  way  home  she  bought  a  copy  of  the  Po^t^ 
■  101 


CHAPTER     VIII 


TOUCHING 


MATTERS       OF 
POBTANCE 


MINOR       IM- 


The  week  slipped:  memorably  fleet  were  the  days. 
Time,  iaugbiiig-,  tossed  the  hours  from  his  glass,  and 
swore  the  jest  of  life  was  excellent. 

O  Youth!  Youth!  .  .  .  Alas,  what  is  there 
new  that  may  be  said  on  the  subject ! 

Youth  is  beloved  of  the  gods.  Youth  is  life's  beau- 
tiful moment,  a  May  morning,  an  eternal  canticle. 
Youth  is  the  golden  prime,  beautiful  in  its  follies, 
supreme  happiness  in  itself.  Youth  is  all  that  sage 
has  said  and  poet  sung.  And  yet — 

Would  you,  Five-and-Forty,  who  have  crossed  the 
divide  and  begun  the  descent  into  the  mist-hidden 
valley  of  age — would  you  go  back  over  the  trail,  f or- 

102 


OF     MINOR     IMPORTANCE 

going  one  by  one  the  memories  of  the  ascent,  and  part- 
ing piece  by  piece  with  the  gold  of  experience  ?  Would 
the  blown  rose  furl  its  petals  and  be  a  bud  again? 

Our  Princess  Hope,  still  in  the  sun-drenched  vale  of 
youth,  ran  each  day  a  losing  race  with  Phoebus.  No 
real  Princess,  at  home  or  abroad,  ever  had  half  so 
much  to  do  and  think  about  as  she. 

First,  there  was  her  music — piano  practice  morn- 
ing and  afternoon,  and  lessons  and  lectures  at  the 
Grindstone ;  these  were  restricted  to  three  days  in  the 
week.  Next  in  importance  came  her  household  duties, 
the  not  inconsiderable  burden  of  which  she  faithfully 
discharged.  Some  time,  too,  she  contrived  to  spare  for 
adding  to  the  attractiveness  of  her  new  home.  The 
easy-chair  looked  better  for  a  cretonne  cover.  A 
square  of  India  print  on  the  table  brightened  up  the 
larger  room.  A  photograph  of  Herr  Herschel,  "rever- 
enced as  a  god,"  was  shrined  on  the  piano :  only  can- 
dles were  wanting. 

Thus  far  her  evenings  had  been  free,  but  these  were 
short-houred  as  the  days.  Matched  with  Madame 
Jesurin's  fleet  tongue.  Time  ran  his  legs  off,  and  con- 
fessed himself  outclassed.  Two  nights  of  the  week  the 
Countess  was  engaged  with  language  classes;  and, 
left  to  herself,  Hope  read  "With  Rack  and  Wheel :  A 

103 


THE    CPIARLATANS 

Romance  of  the  Holy  Inquisition",  by  Stanley  Arthur 
Jones — one  of  the  six  best-selling  books  of  the  hour. 
Madame  lent  her  the  book,  with  a  rhapsody  upon  it. 

Hope  echoed  the  praises  faintly.  Not  that  "With 
Rack  and  Wheel"  fell  short  of  the  standards  of  his- 
torical romance;  on  the  contrary,  it  reeked  with  ap- 
proved merits;  but  the  world  which  Hope  inhabited 
appeared  to  her  more  wonderful  than  the  world  of 
Stanley  Arthur  Jones's  fancy.  The  dancing  of  his 
puppets  entertained;  at  best  they  could  not  seem  so 
real  to  her  as  to  the  gentleman  who  pulled  the  strings. 

As  for  her  music,  no  progress  was  yet  perceivable. 
By  diligent  hammering  at  Bach  and  Czemy  she  re- 
covered the  ground  lost  by  three  days  of  idleness,  but 
she  did  not  seem  to  get  over  the  keys  so  readily  as  be- 
fore. Perhaps  she  practised  incorrectly  the  conserva- 
tory callisthenics. 

There  could  be,  of  course,  no  criticism  of  the  Grind- 
stone's methods ;  these  were  founded  on  scientific  prin- 
ciples, and  no  more  admitted  of  criticism  than  the  law 
of  gravity. 

As  we  have  seen,  she  was  drilled  in  tone  volume,  and 
in  manual  and  digital  independence.  She  received  in- 
struction in  staccato — compelled  by  an  electrically- 
heated  metallic  keyboard ;  so  hot  were  the  keys  that  the 

104 


OF     MINOR    IMPORTANCE 

fingers  touched  them  an  infinitesimal  part  of  a  second ; 
a  staccato  of  rare  crispness  was  the  result.  A  pianis- 
simo so  fine  that  "nothing  lived  'twixt  it  and  silence," 
was  obtained  by  holding  down  the  pedal  while  the  last 
struck  chord  expired,  and  then  pretending  to  strike 
the  chord  again — an  effect  similar  to  that  which  vio- 
linists produce  by  detaching  the  bow  from  the  strings 
and  drawing  it  through  the  air.  For  the  acquisition 
of  the  "velvet  touch,"  plush-faced  keyboards  were  em- 
ployed, and  it  became  second  nature  to  touch  the  keys 
caressingly.  (No  doubt  Monsieur  Paderewski  and 
other  pianists,  whose  "beautiful  touch"  so  arouses  our 
enthusiasm,  practise  daily  on  a  velvet  keyboard.)  She 
learned  to  open  a  parasol  and  sing  Ah  crescendo.  She 
imbibed  the  spirit  of  Beethoven  through  that  most 
sensitive  of  mediums.  Professor  Jan  Van  Wart.  She 
learned  something  of  musical  analysis  and  history; 
she  had  nine  minutes  of  ear-training,  and  as  many 
more  of  sight-reading  and  ensemble  playing;  she 
picked  up  a  few  facts  in  harmony,  a  study  which 
interested  her  immediately,  and  into  which  she  was  im- 
patient to  go  deeper.  The  week  brought,  also,  a  valu- 
able lesson  in  stage  presence:  she  was  shown  how  to 
approach  a  piano,  how  to  bow,  how  to  leave  the  stage, 
how  to  accept  and  bear  off  floral  offerings.   On  Friday 

105 


THE    CHARLATANS 

came  a  remarkable  lecture  by  Doctor  Emil  Dudelsack, 
who  occupied  the  chair  of  "How  to  Listen  to  Music." 
Doctor  Dudelsack  discoursed  of  Humperdinck's  Han- 
sel und  Gretel,  the  Prelude  to  which  was  on  the  pro- 
gramme for  the  second  Symphony  concert. 

"Hark !"  he  said,  with  bated  breath.  "Is  that  flim- 
mering  on  the  violins  the  stealthy  footfall  of  some 
ravening  creature  of  the  wild  ?  No ;  'tis  but  the  night 
wind  moaning  through  rustling  leaves,  a  threnody  of 
poignant  despair  not  untinged  with  irony.     .     .     ." 

Murmurous  appreciation  circled  the  class-room  as 
Dudelsack  paused  a  moment,  intoxicated  by  the  ex- 
uberance of  his  own  virtuosity.  "Isn't  that  perfectly 
sweet!"  passed  from  lip  to  lip.  The  Doctor  ran  his 
fingers  through  his  pompadour  and  resumed : 

"Another  rustling  on  the  violins  betokens  the  com- 
ing day.  The  odoriferous  breeze,  incense  of  nature's 
glorious  cathedral,  floats  dewily  through  the  forest 
aisles.  Phaethon  is  harnessing  the  horses  to  the 
Chariot  of  the  Sun.  The  music  increases  in  bright- 
ness. A  trumpet  call!  Phaethon  is  off! — through 
the  purple  portals  of  the  east  and  down  the  rose- 
strewn  pathway  of  the  Zodiac.  Listen !  The  flute  and 
oboe  passage  is  the  dance  of  nymphs  and  naiads.  The 
forest  glows  with  sunlight.     .     .     ." 

106 


OF     MINOR     IMPORTANCE 

Thus,  in  flowing  periods,  Dudelsack  expressed  his 
soul. 

"If  Madame  Jesurin  were  only  here!"  said  Hope. 
"Madame  would  love  the  Doctor.     ..." 

Twice  during  the  week  Miss  Winston  was  accorded 
the  privilege  of  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with  the  presi- 
dent of  the  Colossus.  On  both  occasions  he  was  most 
gracious,  sympathetically  inquiring,  solicitous  for  her 
musical  and  physical  welfare.  Was  she  quite  satisfied 
with  the  disposition  of  her  hours  at  the  conservatory  ? 
If  not,  a  rearrangement  was  possible.  Was  she  get- 
ting along  nicely  with  her  studies.?  A  little  early  to 
say.? — "yes-yes."  She  must  keep  him  advised  of  her 
progress,  nor  hesitate  to  acquaint  him  of  any  obstruc- 
tion to  the  free  expression  of  her  soul.  "Come  m  at 
any  time,"  he  said.  "I  like  to  see  as  much  of  the  stu- 
dents as  possible."  ("Especially  if  they  are  feminine 
and  physically  attractive,"  his  eyes  added. ) 

Mr.  Arthur  West  also  contrived  to  see  Miss  Wins- 
ton on  the  days  she  visited  the  conservatory ;  he 
seemed  to  spend  a  great  deal  of  his  time  there.  Hope 
attached  no  significance  to  his  original  scrutiny  of  her 
lesson  schedule.  She  recalled  Mrs.  West's  statement 
that  Arthur  was  devoted  to  music:  that  was  obvious. 

One  day  she  stopped  before  the  art-shop  window 
107 


THE    CHARLATANS 

for  a  second  look  at  the  picture  of  Brahms ;  a  great 
desire  to  possess  it  came  over  her.  And  then  her  brow 
puckered  at  the  recollection  of  Churchill  Gray's  in- 
quiry: "Are  you  interested  in  Brahms,  Miss  Wins- 
ton?" Was  he  mocking  her?  She  wished  she  knew ;  if 
he  were,  she  would  be  angry  with  him.  Did  he  im- 
agine that  nobody  except  himself  could  be  interested 
in  Brahms? 

She  took  courage  to  ask  the  price  of  the  sketch,  and 
found,  as  she  feared,  that  it  was  beyond  her  means. 
If  Mr.  Gray  was  so  tremendously  interested  in  Brahms 
why  did  he  not  buy  the  picture  and  bear  the  treasure 
home  in  triumph,  as  she  would  do  if  she  did  not  have 
to  count  her  pennies  ?  Perhaps  he  already  had  a  copy. 

She  turned  her  steps  toward  a  music  store.  If  the 
master's  portrait  was  beyond  her  reach,  she  might  at 
least  purchase  some  of  his  compositions.  Alas,  these 
proved  unexpectedly  high  in  price. 

"All  Brahms  music  is  dear,"  the  clerk  informed  her. 
"Copyrighted,  you  know." 

The  First  and  Second  Rhapsodies  (they  came  to- 
gether) cost  a  dollar;  but  the  temptation  was  not  to 
be  resisted. 

"I  shall  have  to  economize  at  the  butcher's,"  she  re- 
flected as  she  left  the  store  and  hastened  to  Atwood 

108 


OF     MINOR     IMPORTANCE 

Street  to  act  on  the  familiar  suggestion :  "Take  this 
home  and  try  it  over  on  your  piano." 

The  Second  Rhapsody,  which  Mrs.  Maybury  had 
played  for  her,  was  not  so  difficult  as  the  first ;  and  it 
was  a  joy  merely  to  read  the  grim  harmonic  outlines. 
She  set  herself  to  the  task  of  learning  Number  Two. 

With  her  domestic  environment  Miss  Winston  was 
well  content,  despite  its  distance  from  the  conserva- 
tory. Mrs.  Grady  continued  sympathetically  kind; 
and  after  the  first  shock  of  surprise  she  accepted  John 
Grady.  That  good  man's  idea  of  after-dinner  com- 
fort was  to  remove  his  shoes  and  deposit  his  feet  in 
one  kitchen  chair  while  he  sat  in  another  and  read  the 
Evening  Telegraph. 

The  only  other  male  about  the  house  was  Patrick, 
the  f etcher  of  coals.  He,  too,  was  a  man  of  few  words, 
even  when  "under  the  influence" ;  scrupulously  polite, 
anxious  to  please.  When  Saturday  came,  and  Hope 
paid  him  his  twenty-five  cents,  he  removed  his  non- 
descript cap  and  made  her  a  bow  which  would  have 
passed  muster  before  any  Princess. 

That  evening  Hope  attended,  unaccompanied,  the 
second  Symphony  concert. 


109 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE   PRINCE   AND   THE   GOOSE 


Wishing  to  make  certain  of  a  seat,  Hope  arrived  in 
Music  Hall  full  fifteen  minutes  before  the  concert  be- 
gan. Very  few  people  were  on  hand,  nor  did  the  gal- 
lery fill  rapidly  as  the  minutes  passed ;  down  stairs  it 
was  no  better.  The  hall  was  a  great  bam,  to  be  sure, 
yet  opening  night  had  seen  it  crowded. 

She  looked  over  the  programme  notes.  Beethoven's 
Seventh  Symphony,  first  on  the  list,  had  inspired 
Dudelsack  to  flights  of  poesy  seldom  soared  to; 
while  the  notes  to  Hansel  und  Gretel,  as  we  already 
know  from  the  sample,  were  "perfectly  sweet." 

Interesting  also  were  the  advertisements  in  the  pro- 
gramme book.    Surprisingly  large  was  the  number  of 

110 


THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  GOOSE 

musical  institutions  in  the  city.  Some  of  these  were 
conservatories,  some  were  colleges,  seminaries,  schools. 
This  from  the  prospectus  of  a  "musical  seminary" : 

*'One  of  the  largest,  most  thorough  and  systematic  in- 
stitutions in  America.  SCHOOL  OF  RAPID  PRO- 
GRESS. Originators  of  the  ONLY  perfect  method  of 
musical  instruction.  NO  DRUDGERY.  LIKE  A  TRIP 
TO  FAIRYLAND.  Beautiful  and  charming  melodies 
from  the  start.  Even  the  OLD,  who  have  been  prevented 
studying  music  in  youth,  can  now  acquire  the  knowledge 
so  long  withheld  from  them.  Twenty  lessons  enable 
young  or  old  to  perform  on  piano,  banjo,  mandolin  or 
guitar  that  which  requires  years  by  the  old  method. 
SURPRISE  FRIENDS.  Thousands  of  testimonials. 
Open  evenings.    Catalogue  free." 

A  musical  mail-order  house  engaged  to  teach  the 
art  by  correspondence.  Another  institution  promised 
excellent  results  from  absent  treatment.  A  voice  cul- 
turist,  whose  photograph  suggested  the  gentlemanly 
advance  agent  for  a  patent  wringer,  informed  the 
world,  regardless  of  syntax,  that  he  gave  "careful  at- 
tention to  instruct  the  pupil  in  deep  breathing,  so  as  to 
open  the  throat,  so  as  the  tone  comes  forward  to  their 
proper  placement  in  the  tone  chamber."  Two  or  three 
rivals  of  Doctor  Dudelsack  offered  to  pilot  the  tender- 
foot through  the  bogs  of  Beethoven,  the  desert  of 

111 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Grieg,  the  dark  tarn  of  Chopin,  the  misty  mid-region 
of  Brahms.  One  lady,  appreciating  that  we  live  in  a 
concentrated  and  predigested  age,  was  prepared  to 
ciccompany  a  party  voyaging  to  Bayreuth,  and  to  ex- 
plain on  the  way  over  what  Richard  Wagner  was  driv- 
ing at.  "Artists"  available  for  "private  recitals  or 
salon  musicales,"  and  pundits  desirous  to  discourse  to 
women's  clubs,  were  represented  by  cards.  The  manu- 
facturers of  the  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstem  Piano- 
Play  er  called  the  attention  of  the  "tired  professional 
or  business  man"  to  "a  relaxation  that  means  greater 
force  and  energy  the  next  day" ;  this  marvelous  inven- 
tion was  under  the  instantaneous  control  of  the  most 
fatigued  dentist  or  coal  merchant,  who  might  "vary 
the  touch  from,  a  soft,  velvety  legato  to  a  blow  so 
powerful  that  it  was  never  exceeded  by  a  Liszt  or 
Rub  en  stein." 

Hope  turned  her  attention  to  the  people  about  her. 
A  middle-aged  man  with  pallid  side-whiskers  was  read- 
ing a  country  newspaper.  A  kindly- faced  priest  talkeH 
of  Bach  to  three  young  men  who  listened  alertly.  A 
pair  of  lovers  munched  caramels  and  looked  sweeter 
things.  A  serious-featured  young  man,  a  violinist  (his 
fiddle-box  was  between  his  knees),  discoursed  remmis- 
ccntly  of  Berlin  to  his  companion.   He  had  played,  he 

112 


THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  GOOSE 

remarked  casually,  under  the  baton  of  Brahms.  Hope 
leaned  forward,  wishing  to  hear  more;  but  the  stage 
bell  rang,  the  orchestral  units  swarmed  in,  and  a  rus- 
tling of  programmes  signified  a  general  curiosity 
touching  the  first  number:  just  as  a  man  who,  a  mo- 
ment previously,  has  ascertained  that  it  is  six  o'clock, 
pulls  out  his  watch  again  if  asked  the  time. 

Regarding  the  emotions  of  Miss  Winston  during 
the  progress  of  Beethoven's  Seventh  Symphony  her 
biographer  deems  it  sufficient  to  depose  that  she 
listened  reverently,  and  was  spiritually  exalted.  He  es- 
says no  analysis  of  her  soul  processes,  or  Beethoven's, 
for  two  reasons :  first,  to  invite  comparison  with  Doc- 
tor Dudelsack  would  be  disastrous ;  second,  he  is  un- 
fortunately not  of  those  who  are  able  to  "see  things" 
in  music.  For  pictures  he  is  compelled  to  go  to  art 
galleries;  for  philosophical  ideas  he  is  restricted  to 
books  and  spoken  words ;  and  he  misses  utterly  that 
welter  of  the  emotions  which  music  produces,  with 
equal  facility,  in  the  breasts  of  the  happy  Hottentot 
and  the  "music-lover"  of  civilization.  He  feels  his 
limitations  keenly;  and  honesty  compels  the  avowal 
that  the  subject  of  this  biography  was  no  less  deficient 
in  capacity  for  "seeing  things" :  their  mutual  poverty 
of  imagination  is  one  of  many  "bonds  invisible."   This 

113 


THE    CHARLATANS 

confession  made,  the  present  writer  retires  discreetly, 
leaving  Dudelsack  .  in  undisputed  possession  of  the 
field,  and  the  biography  proceeds. 

As  Herr  Herschel  raised  his  baton  for  the  Bach 
suite,  second  on  the  programme,  Churchill  Gray  en- 
tered the  gallery,  tiptoed  down  the  aisle,  and  took  an 
end  chair.  He  sat  with  arms  folded,  head  tilted  for- 
ward and  to  one  side,  blissfully  unconscious  that  he 
divided  with  Johann  Sebastian  Bach  the  attention  of  a 
young  woman  three  rows  behind  him.  Moments  there 
were  when  Bach  seemed  utterly  routed,  but  he  tri- 
umphed in  the  end ;  still,  there  was  no  saying  how  he 
would  fare  in  a  second  encounter. 

When  the  audience  began  to  disperse  for  the  inter- 
mission that  followed.  Gray,  returning  up  the  aisle, 
observed  Miss  Winston,  paused,  and  put  a  hand  on  the 
back  of  the  vacant  chair  beside  her. 

"Did  you  intend  a  promenade?"  he  inquired. 

She  murmured  a  negative,  and  he  sat  down,  remark- 
ing: "Herschel  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired  when  he 
reads  the  old  master*." 

She  expressed  satisfaction  with  everything  that 
Herr  Herschel  did;  she  was  not  wise  enough  to  crit- 
icize. 

"Or  ignorant  enough  ?"  he  suggested. 
Hi 


THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  GOOSE 

"If  only  ignorance  were  required  I  should  make  a 
famous  critic." 

"It  has  made  many  a  one.  Ignorance  with  assur- 
ance is  invincible." 

She  drew  his  attention  to  the  man  with  the  pallid 
side-whiskers.  "He  has  been  reading  that  newspaper 
ever  since  he  sat  down.  What  docs  he  come  here  for?" 

"Why,  it's  warm  and  bright,  and  more  private  than 
a  club." 

"Do  you  suppose  he  hears  the  music?" 

"Evidently  it  doesn't  annoy  him." 

"Nor  that  couple," — indicating  the  caramel-munch- 
ers. 

"  'If  niusic  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on.'  " 

"There  are  lots  of  interesting  faces  here,"  said 
Hope.  "You  don't  ascend  to  the  hurricane  deck  as  a 
rule,  do  you  V* 

"No.  I  came  up  to-night  for  the  Bach;  I  have  a 
notion  it  is  heard  better  from  here.  My  seats  on  the 
lower  floor  are  a  trifle  too  far  forward." 

"It  must  be  pleasanter  down  stairs,  on  the  whole." 

"The  chairs  are  more  comfortable,  and  it  is  quieter ; 
contrary  to  tradition,  the  wealthy  patrons  make  less 
noise  when  the  orchestra  is  playing  than  the  so-called 
music-lovers  up  here.    But  the  lights  in  the  parquet 

115 


THE    CHARLATANS 

are  more  trying  to  the  eyes,  and  the  feminine  con- 
tingent more  highly  scented — more  suggestive  of 
drug-store  blotters." 

"I  hope  the  ushers  down  stairs  don't  wear  such 
squeaky  shoes  and  tramp  about  so.  It  is  difficult  to 
keep  one's  mind  on  the  music,  there  is  such  a  clatter." 
"Yes ;  it  is  difficult.  There  are  many  distractions  in 
a  public  hall;  so  few  people  have  any  consideration 
for  the  rights  of  others;  though  I  surmise  that  the 
nervous  pace  at  which  we  all  live  would  preclude  con- 
centration in  the  most  favorable  conditions.  I  reason 
from  my  own  experience:  I  enjoy  music  properly  only 
on  a  few  rare  occasions — ^when  my  nervous  energy  is 
not  spent  for  the  day,  or  when  there  has  been  space 
for  recuperation.  And  if  I,  to  whom  music  is  more 
than  a  means  of  entertainment,  find  myself  at  times 
unable  to  endure  it,  why  quarrel  with  the  folks  who 
wish  merely  to  have  their  ears  tickled?" 

"But  you  do  quarrel  with  them — in  the. Post. ^' 
"Oh !"  He  shrugged.   "On  general  principles." 
"Well,  7W?/  nerves  are  good ;  and  I  feel  I  could  listen 
to  all  the  music  in  the  world." 

Gray  smiled  indulgently  at  her  enthusiasm.  "I 
thought  so  once  myself,"  he  said.  "I  still  think  so — 
when  I  come  out  of  the  woods  in  the  fall,  with  a  new 

116 


THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  GOOSE 

lease  of  nerve  life  and  my  mental  affairs  set  in  order ; 
but  in  two  or  three  months  I  begin  to  grow  restless, 
until,  at  the  fag  end  of  the  season,  I  can  cut  a  concert 
without  a  pang." 

He  spoke  slowly,  and  his  voice  was  the  most  musi- 
cal she  had  ever  heard.  His  eyes,  too,  were  remarkably 
attractive,  and  she  found  herself  looking  steadily  into 
them  without  confusion. 

They  chatted  the  intermission  away,  and  Gray  kept 
his  seat  beside  her  till  the  concert's  end.  When  they 
descended  to  the  lower  floor  he  observed  that  she  was 
not  joined  by  friend  or  acquaintance,  and  asked  the 
pleasure  of  accompanying  her  home.  She  discouraged 
the  idea ;  she  lived  such  a  great  distance  off.  Pressed 
for  details,  she  mentioned  street  and  number. 

"We  take  the  same  trolley,"  he  smiled.  "Therefore, 
unless  objection  be  made — " 

Squeezed  in  a  corner  of  a  crowded  street-car,  after 
ten  minutes  of  hanging  to  straps,  conversation  was 
resumed.  Miss  Winston  remarked  on  the  size  of  the 
audience  attending  the  concert.  Were  light  houses  the 
rule  or  the  exception .? 

"Perhaps  half  of  the  series  are  well  attended,"  said 
Gray.  "It  takes  a  great  many  people  to  fill  Music 
Hall.    Still,  there  Is  no  excuse  for  vacant  seats  in  the 

117 


THE    CHARLATANS 

gallery.    There  are  enough  music  students  in  town  to 
fill  the  house  twice  over." 

Hope  expressed  a  mild  surprise  that  music  students 
should  be  indifferent  to  the  privilege  of  hearing  the 
Symphony  Orchestra. 

"If  they  were  really  students,  conditions  might  be 
otherwise,"  Gray  replied;  "but  the  average  student, 
so  called,  cares  little  about  music,  and  contrives  to 
learn  even  less.  The  schools  do  not,  it  is  true,  advise 
against  attending  the  Herschel  concerts;  but  on  the 
other  hand,  they  do  not  say,  'Attend  them  religiously : 
they  will  teach  you  more  than  we  can.'  " 

"In  another  way." 

"In  an  honester  way.  .  .  .  But  the  advice  if 
given  would  be  wasted.  The  student's  single  ambition 
is  to  possess  a  diploma,  with  which  to  set  up  in  the 
provinces  as  a  teacher.  A  teacher  of  music!"  Inef- 
fable contempt  informed  the  words.  "She  ought  to  be 
back  on  the  farm,  helping  her  mother  with  the  house- 
work.    .     .     .     Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon !" 

Hope's  face  was  suddenly  scarlet,  her  under  lip 
quivering. 

"It  was  thoughtless  of  me,"  he  said.  "I  might  have 
guessed — " 

She  caught  him  up  swiftly. 
118 


THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  GOOSE 

"Yes;  you  might  have  guessed.  Anybody  can  see 
I  am  from  the  provinces." 

"I  did  not  mean  that,  Miss  Winston,"  he  replied 
earnestly. 

"Nevertheless,  I  am  from  the  provinces,  and  I 
should  be  at  home,  helping  my  mother  with  the  house- 
work." 

*'I  refuse  to  acquiesce." 

"Privately  you  do." 

He  was  silent. 

"I  can  not  speak  for  the  average  student,"  said 
Hope,  her  composure  recovered ;  "but  if  she  is  as  poor 
as  I  am,  she  has  very  little  money  to  spend  on  concert 
tickets.  Light  purses  may  account  for  the  vacant 
seats  in  Music  Hall,  Mr.  Gray." 

"I  confess  I  overlooked  that  point,"  said  Gray  con- 
tritely. "It  is  so  long  since  I  bought  a  concert  ticket, 
I  quite  forgot  that  money  was  asked  for  them." 

She  had  been  looking  straight  before  her,  but  at  this 
she  turned  on  him  a  coolly  critical  glance,  sweeping 
downward  from  opera  hat  to  patent  leathers.  He  bore 
it  with  a  sardonic  smile.     .     .     • 

Hope  touched  the  conductor's  arm:  "Atwood 
Street,  please."  And  to  Gray :  "I  thank  you  for  your 
company." 

119 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Privately  you  do  not,"  he  returned  good-huraor- 
edly. 

They  debarked  together. 

"You  have  come  a  long  way  past  your  own  street- 
comer,  have  you  not?"  said  Hope. 

"A  few  squares." 

"Twenty,  at  a  guess." 

"I  refuse  to  count  them." 

"There  comes  a  car — and  I  can  see  my  doorway 
from  here." 

"I  shall  walk  home.  .  .  .  But  not  until  you 
have  forgiven  my  thoughtless  speech." 

"You  shall  not  be  delayed.  Truth  does  not  need 
forgiveness,  Mr.  Gray.  You  simply  did  not  know  that 
I  was  of  the  presumptuous  ones." 

"I  am  sure  you  are  not." 

"But  I  am."  They  paused  before  No.  69.  "I  am 
all  you  suspect.  I  shall  go  back  to  the  provinces  with 
my  diploma,  tied  with  a  pretty  pink  ribbon,  and  set 
up  as  a  teacher  of  music.  A  teacher  of  music !" — she 
sought  to  reproduce  his  scornful  accents.  "I  shall 
charge  fifty  cents  an  hour  for  adults,  and  twenty-five 
cents  for  children." 

He  did  not  smile  with  her.  He  suspected  that  the 
tears  were  not  far  away. 

1^0 


THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  GOOSE 

"Do  me  the  justice  to  remember,"  he  said,  "that  I 
spoke  of  the  average  student ;  and  permit  me  to  think 
of  you  as  something  better." 

"You  will  not  think  of  me  at  all." 

"Is  that  a  command  ?" 

"No ;  a  prophecy.    Good  night,  Mr.  Gray." 

"Good  night." 

The  door  closed  after  her,  and  he  turned  away, 
saying :  "Another  goose  for  the  charlatans  to  pluck." 
Then,  obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  he  retraced  his  steps, 
and  noted  down  the  goose's  house-number. 

"I  owe  something  for  cutting  her  up  so,"  he  re- 
marked to  the  street-lamp ;  and  with  a  final  glance  at 
the  house,  and  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  he  went  his 
way. 


121 


CHAPTER     X 

A      CL.ATTER      OF      MUSICAI.      SHOP;      WITH 

SOME      RULES      FOR      SUCCEEDING 

IN      LITERATURE 

In  the  catalogue  of  human  passions,  the  desire  to 
get  something  for  nothing  deserves  a  line  in  black- 
face. It  is  universal  as  love  and  hatred,  strong  as 
envy.  Nothing  so  worthless  but  it  is  desired,  only  let 
it  be  gratis. 

The  concerts  in  the  recital  hall  of  the  Colossus  Con- 
servatory of  Music,  performed  by  students  and  mem- 
bers of  the  faculty,  were  far  from  being  worthless, 
but  had  they  been  utterly  without  merit  and  reason 
for  existence,  they  would  have  drawn;  for  they  were 
without  price,  to  students  and  the  public,  and  always 
the  hall  was  crowded. 

122 


A     CLATTER     OF.  MUSICAL     SHOP 

Artistically  these  concerts  left  much — on  occasion 
everything — ^to  be  desired.  They  were  of  value  chiefly 
to  the  students,  who  through  them  were  made  aware 
of  the  existence  of  good  music,  however  little  real  in- 
terest in  it  they  might  afterward  exhibit. 

Thus  to-night  the  programme  is  given  over  wholly 
to  Mozart,  of  whose  music  Hope  Winston  has  y^t  to 
hear  the  first  note. 

As  she  was  casting  about  for  a  seat  in  the  rapidly- 
filling  hall,  Miss  Winston  was  sighted  by  Flora 
Matheson,  and  invited  to  make  one  of  a  merry  group 
whose  other  units  were  Arthur  West,  Karl  Geist,  and 
Stanley  Arthur  Jones. 

The  author  of  "With  Rack  and  Wheel"  was  a  fine- 
looking  chap,  very  tall,  with  silky  brown  mustache 
and  curly  hair  to  match  it.  He  was  telling  Miss 
Matheson,  In  whom  he  evidenced  a  more  than  casual 
interest,  that  his  favorite  composition.  In  all  music, 
was  Weber's  "Invitation  to  the  Dance." 

"Though  peradventure,"  he  added,  "Professor 
Gelst  would  visit  disapproval  on  my  choice,  in  very 
sooth." 

Mr.  Jones  on  occasion  relapsed  Into  the  archaic. 
For  years  he  had  breathed  the  atmosphere  of  histor- 
ical romance,  and  was  now  assisting  to  oxygenate  it ; 

123 


THE    CHARLATANS 

so  that  at  times,  when  the  whim  took  him,  his  language 
and  his  manner  were  of  an  elder  day.  He  carried  it 
oif  well,  as  he  had  all  the  qualifications  of  a  hero  of 
romance,  and  if  occasion  should  arise  he  was  prepared 
to  act  the  part ;  for  no  Gentleman  of  France  was  more 
chivalrous,  or  had  a  keener  eye  for  a  damsel  in  dis- 
tress. Unfortunately,  such  female  distress  as  came  to 
Mr.  Jones's  notice  was  of  a  minor  sort,  calling  for  re- 
lief no  more  heroic  than  you  or  I  could  provide.  Jones 
wore  cloak  and  sword;  but,  in  deference  to  modern 
convention,  the  cloak  was  an  Inverness  coat,  and  the 
sword  was  concealed  in  his  cane.  He  would,  I  am  sure, 
give  an  excellent  account  of  himself  in  an  ambuscade 
(known  to  our  vulgar  age  as  a  "hold-up") ;  but  he 
went  unmolested  by  highwaymen,  despite  the  fact  that 
he  exposed  himself  constantly.  Certain  thoroughfares 
of  ill  repute,  avoided  after  nightfall  by  discreet  ones, 
Jones  threaded  with  a  challenging  step,  prepared 
to  cry  "Have  at  you!"  and  "Gadzooks!"  and  other 
terror-breeding  phrases.  Many  a  prowling  rascal 
escaped,  by  the  mere  luck  of  being  elsewhere,  a  sword- 
thrust  in  his  chest ;  for  our  hero  was  cunning  at  fence 
(the  favorite  pupil  of  Signor  Rapiero),  and  intrepid 
as  D'Artagnan. 

To  his  remark  Miss  Matheson  replied:   "All  music 
124 


A     CLATTER     OF^  MUSICAL     SHOP 

looks  alike  to  Professor  Geist.  He  has  no  favorite 
composition." 

Mr.  Jones  declined  to  credit  such  catholicity.  He 
ventured  the  hazard  of  a  box  of  chocolates  that,  were 
all  music  to  be  swept  away,  Professor  Geist  would 
plead  for  the  retention  of  at  least  one  opus. 

Miss  Matheson  leaned  over  to  Geist.  "Mr.  Jones 
wishes  to  know  whether  you  have  a  favorite  compo- 
sition." 

"Certainly,"  he  answered  quickly:  "Galuppi's 
Toccata  in  B-sharp — the  one  he  used  to  play  to 
Browning." 

The  author,  whose  acquaintance  with  Browning  was 
slight,  smiled.  "You  have  lost,  Miss  Matheson;  but 
in  the  intoxication  of  my  triumph  I  forgive  you  the 
sweet  debt." 

The  chatter  in  the  hall  decreased.  A  violinist,  "tun- 
ing up,"  was  comparing  his  A  with  that  of  the  piano. 

"How  much  expression  he  puts  in  that  A!"  re- 
marked Geist.  And  turning  to  a  young  pianist  jJe- 
hind  him :  "That's  the  A  you  play,  Leo." 

Miss  Winston  laughed  merrily,  and  Geist,  who  sat 
beside  her,  rewarded  her  quick  appreciation  with  a 
comical  grimace. 

She  sought  to  reconcile  his  boy-out-of-school  man- 
125 


THE    CHARLATANS 

ner  with  his  fame  as  viohnist  and  teacher  of  musical 
theory.  He  had  been  described  to  her  in  a  phrase: 
"Karl  Geist  is  not  a  musician,  he  is  music."  Possibly 
that  explained  his  manner.  Music  at  times  is  unaf- 
fectedly merry;  at  other  times  'tis  melancholy, 
thoughtful,  grave,  tragic:  Professor  Geist  had  moods, 
perhaps,  to  correspond. 

The  concert  began:  "Mozart,  Sonata  for  Piano 
and  Violin,  A-major."  Geist  gave  close  ear  to  it,  nod- 
ding approval  now  and  then.  Naturally  Miss  Winston 
was  less  interested  in  the  violinist  than  in  the  young 
woman  at  the  piano,  who,  in  her  judgment,  was  play- 
ing uncommonly  well.  A  reference  to  the  programme 
showed  her  name  to  be  Rhoda  Weathers, 

"One  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  sonatas,"  Geist 
observed,  after  the  Allegro.  "It  is  so  simple  that  an 
artist  is  required  to  play  it." 

"Miss  Weathers  plays  well,"  ventured  Hope. 

"Yes ;  she  is  the  artist — or  will  be."  The  accented 
pronoun  testified  his  opinion  of  the  violinist,  one  of 
the  Grindstone's  staff. 

Rhoda  Weathers  was  a  large  young  woman,  with 
strong  features  and  an  unusually  dark  complexion. 
For  one  so  inexperienced,  she  exhibited  remarkable 
composure,   both   in   her  playing   and   her  manner. 

126 


A    CLATTER    OP    MUSICAL    SHOP 

When  she  rose  to  acknowledge,  unsmilingly,  the  audi- 
ence's approbation,  Hope  recognized  the  brown-eyed 
girl  who  had  given  her  the  countersign,  "Beethoven," 
at  the  door  of  the  Studio  of  the  Soul. 

A  second  member  of  the  faculty,  Mr.  Victor  Mab- 
bitt,  a  young  man  with  a  close-cropped  beard,  who 
looked  like  a  prosperous  physician,  performed  a  C- 
major  Fantasia  and  Sonata.  He  played  carelessly, 
and  embroidered  the  concluding  chord  with  a  ridicu- 
lous little  trill  of  his  own  invention ;  after  which  gibe 
at  Mozart  he  bowed  curtly  and  strolled  off  the  stage. 

Geist  laughed:  "Scrambled  eggs,  after  teaching 
aU  day." 

"I  say,"  this  from  Arthur  West  in  a  stage  whisper, 
"Mabbitt's  got  tired  expressing  his  soul,  hasn't  he.?" 

"Long  since,"  said  Geist.  "He  is  now  expressing 
his  studio  rent." 

After  Mozart  was  completely  done  for,  Mr.  West 
invited  the  congenial  little  company  to  supper.  Miss 
Winston,  for  her  part,  demurred ;  and  West,  wKo  had 
contrived  the  supper  as  a  pretext  for  enjoying  her 
society,  denied  him  during  the  concert,  looked  his  dis- 
appointment.  Miss  Matheson  came  to  his  rescue. 

"I  have  something  special  to  communicate  to  you, 
Miss  Winston,"  she  said.  "Do  come  with  us." 

127 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Hope,  in  her  hesitation,  looked  at  Geist,  who  Yor  the 
first  time  was  eying  her  attentively. 

"Better  come  along.  Miss  Winston,"  he  urged. 
"Miss  Matheson's  special  communications  are  usually 
interesting." 

"  'Twould  augment  our  pleasure  greatly,"  mur- 
mured Mr.  Jones. 

Thus  pleasantly  beset.  Miss  Winston  yielded. 

"And  find  Rhoda,  Arthur,  before  she  gets  away," 
Miss  Matheson  enjoined.  "You  have  never  met  Rhoda 
Weathers,  have  you,  Mr.  Jones  ?" 

The  author  expressed  his  regret  archaically. 

"She  is  Professor  Geist's  favorite  pupil,"  said 
Flora.   "He  says  she  will  be  a  great  artist  some  day." 

"Ah,  indeed,"  murmured  Mr.  Jones,  twisting  his 
mustache.  "I  would  I  might  hear  her  play  that  Ga- 
luppi  piece.  Favorite  pupil,  favorite  composition — a 
feast,  truly." 

"Rhoda  and  I  come  from  the  same  city — Cleve- 
land," Miss  Matheson  remarked  to  Hope.  "We  have 
a  little  flat  not  far  from  here,  with  a  housekeeper  to 
look  after  us.  You  must  come  and  take  tea  with  us 
some  afternoon." 

Mr.  West  returned  with  the  information  that  Miss 
Weathers  had  vanished  immediately  after  her  concert 

128 


A    CLATTER     OF     MUSICAL    SHOP 

number.  Hope  observed  a  troubled  expression  pass 
over  Flora's  face. 

"Suppose  we  go  to  the  Palm  Garden,"  Arthur  sug- 
gested, and,  the  others  agreeing,  the  quintette  repaired 
to  a  neighboring  hotel,  where  Miss  Winston  looked 
in  wonder  on  a  new  world,  dazzling  in  its  magnificence. 
The  cafe  was  one  approved  by  society,  which  flocked 
thither  after  theater  and  concert. 

Being  early  on  the  scene.  West  selected  a  desirable 
table,  and  invited  a  vote  of  confidence  in  his  ability  to 
order  a  supper.  While  this  was  under  humorous  dis- 
cussion Victor  Mabbitt  drifted  in,  and  was  pressed  to 
make  one  of  the  party. 

"I  hear,  Mr.  Mabbitt,"  said  Flora,  "that  you  are 
going  to  give  a  concert  devoted  exclusively  to  the  com- 
positions of  that  new  man — what's  his  name? — Hum- 
mel." 

"Yes,"  said  Geist ;  "he  is  going  to  marry  Hummel's 
daughter." 

"He  has  none,"  returned  Mabbitt,  joining  in  the 
laugh. 

"Ah,  you  have  inquired !"  cried  Geist,  and  the  laugh 
circled  again. 

The  clatter  of  musical  shop  continued  through  the 
supper,  which  was  voted  as  successful  an  enterprise  as 

129 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Mr.  West  had  ever  engineered.  The  gentlemen  then 
lighted  cigarettes,  and  the  conversation  turned  on 
literature — fiction — of  which  trade  a  distinguished 
representative  was  present.  Stanley  Arthur  Jones 
held  forth  on  the  essentials  of  the  successful  novel, 
meaning  the  novel  which  makes  a  wide  appeal,  selling 
its  tens  of  thousands. 

"ImprimiSy  lords  and  ladies,"  he  declared,  smiling 
around  the  circle,  "a  plenitude  of  action  should  in- 
form the  tale ;  and  this  brisk  movement  the  preluding 
chapter  right  fairly  should  bespeak.  Incident  must 
never  lack.  An  the  tale  do  not  develop  incident 
a-plenty,  the  writer's  wit  must  devise  it;  therein  lies 
the  art  on't." 

"Something  doing  all  the  time;  that's  the  stuff," 
chimed  Mabbitt.  The  author's  gesture  of  assent 
obeyed  "the  oracular  mind  that  made  his  features 
glow." 

"Again,  the  tale,  to  be  of  a  wide  appeal,  should 
harbor  naught  of  gloom  or  melancholy.  Nay,  an  you 
except  death  and  hurt  in  battle  or  duello,  the  which 
may  not  be  shunned,  all  else  must  be  of  a  bright  cheer- 
ful pattern.  Life  is  strewn  with  trials  and  harrowing 
details:  from  these  we  seek  surcease,  and  literature 
happily  affords  it." 

130 


A    CLATTER     0/     MUSICAL     SHOP 

"By  literature,  I  take  it  you  mean  romance,"  Geist 
remarked,  reaching  for  Arthur's  cigarette  case. 

"Romance,  fiction,  Hterature — what  you  will,"  Mr. 
Jones  responded  airily.  "I  speak  of  books  that  make 
a  wide  appeal."  Geist  nodded,  and  the  author  pur- 
sued: 

"The  tale  being  sped,  the  conclusion  of  the  matter 
should,  nay  must  be  happy:  a  duetto  for  the  lovers, 
the  scene  preferably  an  exterior,  with  a  chime  of  wed- 
ding bells  heard  distantly.  The  novelist  mindful  of 
these  simple  rules  meets  his  readers  half-way:  an  his 
tale  be  a  good  one  he  shall  have  scant  reason  to  com- 
plain." 

"But  if  one  is  not  a  natural-born  story-teller,  like 
you,  Mr.  Jones,  rules  will  not  help  one  much,  will 
they  ?"  The  inquiry  was  Miss  Matheson's. 

"The  whole  matter,  my  lady,  comes  to  this,  as 
soothly  has  been  said  me  by  a  critic  of  letters :  A  man 
sits  down  with  quill  and  inkhorn,  and  covers  divers 
sheets  of  fair  white  paper;  when  his  travail  is  done 
we  may  know  if  the  good  Lord  purposed  him  to  be  a 
novelist." 

Mr.  Jones's  sequent  smile  of  complacence  imported 
that,  so  far  as  his  own  case  was  concerned,  the  inten- 
tion of  the  good  Lord  was  manifest. 

131 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"How  queerly  he  talks!"  Hope  remarked  aside  to 
West. 

"Like  a  book,"  said  Arthur.  "But  he  doesn't  fly 
high  all  the  time.  Very  often  he  comes  down  to  earth, 
and  is  as  simple  and  unaffected  as  you  or  I." 

"His  books  are  very  successful,  I  am  told." 

"Oh,  Jones  has  hit  off  the  proper  method,  all  right. 
His  first  novel  cleaned  up  thirty  thousand  dollars,  or 
something  of  that  sort.  But  prosperity  hasn't  spoiled 
him.  He's  one  of  the  nicest  chaps  I  know." 

The  minutes  sped  unnoted  by  Hope,  whose  radian£ 
face  expressed  her  enjoyment  of  an  experience  novel 
and  exciting.  Not  till  she  heard  a  woman  at  a  near-by 
table  exclaim  that  it  was  almost  one  o'clock,  was  she 
recalled  to  thoughts  of  Atwood  Street.  West,  whose 
eyes  fed  upon  her  face,  observed  the  sudden  expres- 
sion of  blank  dismay  that  crossed  it,  and  heard  her 
whisper  to  Miss  Matheson :  "What  shall  I  do  ?  I  have 
missed  the  last  car." 

"That's  all  right,"  he  assured  her  in  a  cheerful 
undertone.   "I'll  call  a  carriage." 

"Oh,  no;  please  do  not!"  she  objected  hastily. 

"But  really,  you  know,  Miss  Winston — " 

"Let  me  assume  the  responsibility,  since  the  fault  is 
mine,"  Miss  Matheson  interposed  serenely.   "We  were 

1S2 


A-CLATTER     OJ     MUSICAL     SHOP 

having  such  a  good  time,  I  never  thought  of  the 
clock." 

Hope,  much  distressed,  was  mentally  calculating 
the  probable  cost  of  a  carriage  to  distant  Atwood 
Street. 

"Would  it  be  possible  for  you  to  spend  the  night 
with  me?"  asked  Flora.  "There  is  plenty  of  room," 
she  added,  as  Hope  hesitated.  "Besides,  that  special 
communication  is  still  to  be  communicated." 

No  alternative  suggesting  itself,  Hope  acquiesced. 
The  ladies  were  escorted  grandly  to  a  cab  by  that  im- 
peccable cavalier,  Stanley  Arthur  Jones,  who  then  de- 
parted in  another  cab  with  Arthur  West.  Geist  and 
Mabbitt  walked  away  together,  discussing  the  com- 
parative insignificance  of  music  as  a  means  to  afflu- 
ence when  compared  with  the  sister  art  of  literature. 


JS3 


CHAPTER    XI 


IN    WHICH    TWO    MAIDS    LET    DOWN    THEIR 
HAIR 

"These  initial  essays  which  we  have  prefixed  to  the 
historical  matter  contained  in  every  book,  we  have  de- 
termined to  be  essentially  necessary  to  this  kind  of 
writing,  of  which  we  have  set  ourselves  at  the  head." 
Thus  Henry  Fielding,  in  his  immortal  biography  of 
Tom  Jones. 

Alas,  dear  Shade,  that  laws  however  wise,  and  fash- 
ions however  excellent,  must  change.  Were  not  invo- 
cations out  of  date,  the  biographer  of  Princess  Hope 
would  be  tempted  to  try  his  hand  at  one,  as  prelude 
to  this  chapter.  For  he  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty 
deep ;  as  witness : 

Come,  Reverence!  Do  thou  accompany  me  whilst 
134. 


MAIDS     LET     DO.WN     THEIR     HAIR 

with  hesitant  step  I  pass  the  door  to  "mysteries  which 
profane  eyes  never  beheld."  Thou  knowest,  Rever- 
ence, what  charter,  large  as  Is  the  wind,  the  novelist 
enjoys :  thou  knowest,  too,  how  oft  he  hath  abused  his 
liberty,  lacking  thy  companionship;  how,  Asmodeus- 
wise,  he  hath  ravaged  privacy,  and  pitilessly  hath  ex- 
posed his  heroine  to  chaste  and  ribald  gaze  alike,  ca- 
pering In  her  chamber  most  outrageously.  Since, 
then,  I  must  set  foot  in  virgin's  sanctuary,  do  thou, 
sweet  Reverence,  take  me  by  the  hand  and  guide  me 
to  the  chamber's  deepest  shadow.  Bid  me  to  be  mind- 
ful of  my  privilege,  that  thence  I  may  depart  with  un- 
flushed  cheeks  and  level  gaze. 

And  thou.  Discretion,  do  thou  go  with  me  also ;  for, 
after  Reverence,  I  have  need  of  thee.  And  say  not, 
"We  should  have  earlier  come,"  or  "Delay  yet  an 
hour."  For  know,  Discretion,  that  we  may  not  tarry, 
but  must  enter  now,  since  matter  pertinent  to  our  his- 
tory Is  going  forward. 

And  thou.  Good  Taste,  sister  to  Discretion,  with- 
out whose  bland  admonishments  so  many  are  be- 
trayed to  grievous  errors  and  offenses,  do  thou,  too, 
follow  In.  For  what  Is  Reverence  without  thee,  or  what 
Discretion  ? 

"But  will  they  come  when  you  do  call  for  them?** 
135 


THE    CHARLATANS 

The  living-room  is  lighted  by  an  open  wood-fire, 
burning  lazily.  Its  gleams  play  on  walls  and  ceiling, 
and  dimly  body  forth  the  apartment's  furnishings — 
piano,  bookshelves,  rugs  and  pictures.  In  a  far  cor- 
ner is  a  divan,  on  which  a  bed  has  been  -prepared 
against  the  slumbers  of  an  unexpected  guest. 

Two  maids  in  dishabille  are  seated  on  a  tiger's  skin 
before  the  fire,  presenting,  in  the  flashes  of  its  poor 
lightning,  a  charming  picture,  whose  lovely  lines  are 
tantalizingly  obscured  and  broken  by  the  impish, 
dancing  shadows. 

When  maidens  twain  unloop  their  hair  and  ply  the 
comb  in  company,  a  certain  degree  of  intimacy  is  im- 
plied; for  when  the  locks  are  down  secrets  are  out; 
with  the  shaking  free  of  tresses  come  doivn  the  bar- 
riers of  reserve,  and  confidences  arrow  thick  and  fast. 
Intimacy  is  implied ;  but  intimacy  does  not  always  wait 
on  years'  or  even  months'  acquaintance :  it  may  be,  it 
frequently  is,  a  matter  of  first  sight,  like  love.  These 
mushroom  intimacies  are  common  among  women, 
blessed  with  intuitions:  lacking  them,  man  keeps  his 
guard  up,  made  wary  by  experience. 

When  the  gold  tresses  and  the  brown  were  dropped, 
Miss  Matheson  unfolded  her  "special  communica- 
tion," 

136 


MAIDS     LET     DOAVN     THEIR     HAIR 

"Mrs.  Addison  West  is  to  give  a  musicale,  to  intro- 
duce Mar j  one  Dodd,  a  singing  friend  from  Buffalo. 
I  am  to  help  Mrs.  West  receive,  as  I  very  often  do, 
and  she  would  like  to  have  you  assist  at  the  refresh- 
ment table.  You  will  receive  her  more  formal  invita- 
tion to  the  musicale  to-morrow." 

"Mercy!  how  could  I?"  Hope  exclaimed.  "I  have 
nothing  to  wear." 

"Spoken  like  a  true  daughter  of  Eve,  and  as  usual 
the  objection  is  trivial.  It  is  not  to  be  a  dress  affair, 
though,  of  course,  nothing  can  prevent  some  women 
from  putting  on  full  regalia.  Any  simple  gown  will 
do ;  some  clinging  black  stuff,  as  the  novelists  say." 

"Mrs.  West  is  very  kind;  but  why  should  she  ask 
me  to  her  house  .f^" 

"For  two  reasons :  one,  pretty  girls  are  valuable  as 
decorations ;  two,  Mr.  Arthur  West  probably  put  his 
mother  up  to  it.  Arthur  admires  you  exceedingly,  as 
of  course  you  don't  know,  and  is  prepared  to  lose  his 
wits  over  you  with  the  slightest  encouragement,  or 
without  it." 

"Oh,  Miss  Matheson !" 

"Please  anticipate  our  better  acquaintance  and  call 
me  Flora.  Don't  you  know  there  are  some  people  you 
seem  to  have  known  a  long,  long  time?" 

137 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Yes,"  agreed  Hope,  recalling  a  tall,  slender  young 
man,  and  then  resolutely  excluding  him  from  her 
thoughts. 

"I  should  not  have  betrayed  Arthur's  flutters,  for 
he  is  just  the  nicest  boy.  Besides,  it  is  wrong  to  make 
light  of  a  hopeless  passion.  But  seriously,"  Flora 
dropped  the  comb  in  her  lap,  "I  advise  you  to  accept 
Mrs.  West's  invitation,  if  you  can.  You  will  meet  a 
lot  of  the  musical  set,  and  a  good  many  of  them  are 
worth  knowing.  They  all  go  to  Mrs.  West's  because 
she  has  good  things  to  cat,  and  Pa  West's  cigars  and 
whisky  are  like  Caesar's  wife,  and  a  good  deal  jollier." 

"I  suppose  I  might  manage,"  said  Hope,  reflect- 
ively. (Her  slender  means  included  a  sum  of  money 
for  a  new  gown,  Mother  Winston  having  suggested 
that  it  be  fashioned  in  the  city,  rather  than  in  Swift- 
water.  )    "What  should  I  have  to  do  at  the  musicale  ?" 

"Oh,  just  assume  a  pleasant  expression  and  hand 
out  coffee  and  salad  to  hungry  artists  and  music- 
lovers.  That  won't  come  till  eleven  p'clock  or  so; 
Marjorie  Dodd  has  to  sing  first,  and  there  will  be 
other  music.  I  have  the  hardest  stunt,  going  around 
newspaper  offices  to-morrow,  trying  to  persuade  the 
critics  that  this  is  a  musical  affair,  not  a  social  func- 
tion.   I  expect  an  awful  wrestle  with  Churchill  Gray." 

138 


MAIDS     LET     Dp^VN     THEIR     HAIR 

"He  will  say  something  unpleasant,  no  doubt,"  ob- 
served Hope,  her  wounds  still  smarting. 

"Oh,  no;  he'll  just  grin  in  the  most  aggravating 
manner  and  remark :  *You  will  find  the  society  editor 
over  in  that  corner.  Miss  Matheson.'  " 

"Then  he'll  say  it  unpleasantly,  and  you  will  feel 
that  you  hate  him." 

"Nonsense!  Try  to  hate  Churchill  Gray,  and  see 
how  you  come  out:  I've  tried  it."  Her  voice  was 
reminiscent  of  defeat.  "But  I  shall  be  brave  in  Mi- 
nerva West's  cause ;  if  necessary  I'll  resort  to  tears. 
Suppose  you  make  the  rounds  with  me;  the  critics 
can't  resist  two  beautiful  damsels." 

"Excepting  Mr.  Gray." 

"What  makes  you  think  he  would  hold  out?"  asked 
Flora  curiously.    "Do  you  know  him?" 

"I  have  met  him.  He  impressed  me  as  being  rather 
unmanageable ;  a  little  opinionated — don't  you  think  ?" 

"He's  as  stubborn  as  a  mule,  and  just  as  easy  to 
manage;  but  he's  the  loveliest  man  in  the  world. 
Don't  you  think  he's  beautiful?'^ 

"He  is  very  good-looking,"  Hope  answered  cau- 
tiously. 

"Would  you  say  a  Greek  god  was  good-looking?" 

"I  never  saw  one." 

139 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"There  is  a  head  in  the  Art  IMuseum  that  is  just 
like  Churchill's." 

Recalling  Madame  Jesurin's  exclamation,  "I  love 
Greek  gods !"  Hope  shook  her  hair  over  her  face  to 
hide  a  smile. 

"There  is  a  good  deal  of  the  marble  about  Mr. 
Gray,  I  fancy,"  she  said.  "I  never  met  anybody  quite 
so  cool." 

"Oh,  that's  just  his  repose;  I  wish  I  had  some  of  it. 
But  don't  imagine  that  Churchill  Gray  is  a  cold  prop- 
osition. Set  fire  to  him  and  he'll  bum  Hke  a  varnish 
factory." 

Hope  laughed  outright,  and  an  interval  of  silence 
followed,  during  which  both  maids  plied  their  brushes 
industriously.    Then  Hope  inquired : 

"Doesn't  Mr.  Gray  write  on  other  subjects  besides 
music  .^  I  picked  out  one  or  two  things  in  the  Post 
that  sounded  like  him." 

"Oh,  dear,  yes ;  editorials,  book  reviews,  and  I  don't 
know  what  else.  It's  a  shame  the  way  they  make  liim 
work." 

"He  must  get.  a  very  large  salary." 

"Just  about  enough  to  keep  Arthur  West  in  cig- 
arettes," Flora  replied  resentfully.  "No;  Churchill 
is  poor.    It's  his  own  fault." 

140 


MAIDS     LET     DO^PeN     THEIR     HAIR 

"Poor  Mr.  Gray  1"  Hope  thought.  "That  is  why 
he  didn't  buy  that  picture  of  Brahms." 

"I  shouldn't  say  his  own  faulty  but  his  own  choice,^* 
Flora  went  on.  "Poor  boy  .  .  ."  She  broke  off. 
"I  ought  not  to  speak  of  it ;  he  would  be  angry  if  he 
knew." 

"Then  don't — dear."  Hope  leaned  over  and  pressed 
Flora's  hand. 

"No;  I  will  tell  you  a  fairy  story  instead,"  said 
Flora,  brightening.  "Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a 
Prince.  His  parents  were  well-to-do,  as  princes'  par- 
ents ought  to  be;  and  when  he  was  young — ^he  isn't 
old  yet — they  sent  him  out  to  see  the  world.  He  trav- 
eled several  years,  and  lived  much  in  the  capitals  of 
Europe,  devoting  himself  to  music  and  the  other  arts. 
Music  was  his  favorite,  and  he  heard  and  studied  the 
things  worth  while,  and  came  to  know  the  great  men 
personally,  forming  friendships  with  many  of  them. 

"When  his  father  died,  and  he  returned  to  his  native 
city,  the  Prince  cast  his  eye  upon  a  certain  Damozel, 
a  daughter  of  affluence.  Her  hair  was  light  and 
curly,  giving  thereby  the  impression  of  abundance; 
her  eyes  were  blue,  her  eyebrows  finely  arched,  showing 
a  trivial  character;  complexion  good,  chin  slightly 
pointed." 

141 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Flora  turned  her  face  from  the  firelight,  but  Hope 
saw  that  it  was  serious  and  kind. 

"The  Damozel  interested  the  Prince,  though  she  had 
little  to  recommend  her.  She  was  assuredly  not  an 
intellectual  heavy-weight,  though  she  had,  and  has, 
a  clever  way  of  appearing  intelligent  by  knowing  the 
last  word  on  a  topic,  if  not  the  first,  and  not  attempt- 
ing to  swim  when  the  water  gets  too  deep.  But  she 
was  pictorial ;  and  next  to  music  the  Prince  was  fond 
of  pictures.  To  this  particular  picture  he  gave  a 
great  deal  of  attention,  and  people  said — ^but  you 
know  what  people  say. 

"Things  went  wrong.  The  Damozel's  parents  be- 
ing also  dead,  the  estate  was  divided  between  son  and 
daughter.  The  boy,  a  visionary  youth,  with  schemes 
too  big  for  his  head,  involved  his  friend,  the  Prince, 
in  a  reckless  business  venture,  and  their  combined  for- 
tune was  swept  away.  The  Damozel  wished  to  repair 
the  disaster  to  the  Prince,  and  offered  him  her  patri- 
mony. He  refused  it  (he  is  frightfully  proud),  but 
oh,  so  sweetly  and  tenderly  that  the  Damozel  wept  her 
eyes  out ;  for  she  could  not  insist,  you  see,  because — 
because  acceptance  might — might  imply — sentiments 
as  yet  unexpressed." 

Hope  put  her  arms  about  the  other's  waist. 
142 


MAIDS     LET     DCrVVN     THEIR     HAIR 

"  'Little  remains  to  be  told,'  "  quoted  Flora,  strok- 
ing the  brown  head,  "The  Prince  departed  for  the 
metropolis,  to  enter  journalism,  and  after  many  days 
the  Damozel  followed  liim,  to  express  her  soul  in  mu- 
sic. She  and  the  Prince  are  still  the  best  of  friends ; 
but  they  never  speak  of  what  was  or  what  might  have 
been." 

Hope  tightened  her  arms,  and  laid  her  cheek  against 
Flora's  bare  shoulder.  "The  Prince  will  come  some 
day,"  she  whispered. 

"I  don't  know  why  he  should.  If  one  may  admire 
a  favorite  picture  in  a  gallery,  why  should  one  wish 
to  have  it  in  one's  house,  where  one  would  worry  con- 
stantly over  it?" 

"Don't  be  cynical,  dear." 

"Besides,  Churchill  has  become  a  confirmed  woman- 
shunner.  Collective  womankind,  he  says,  distresses 
him,  and  he  gives  it  none  of  his  society  because  the 
price  he  pays  for  what  he  receives  is  too  high.'* 

"That  is  selfish  and  egotistical." 

"I  dare  say.  But  he  is  good  enough  to  make  an 
exception  of  my  case." 

"Beautiful  pictures  are  the  exception,"  said  Hope. 

Flora  kissed  her  cheek.  "How  can  you  expect  a 
man  with  brains  to  spend  his  time  on  girls,  present 

143 


THE    CHARLATANS 

company  not  excepted?    I  shouldn't  if  I  were  a  man — 
with  brains." 

"Still,  I  have  read  that  they  do." 

"Oh,  you  have  read  that  they  do!  You  will  learn 
it  at  first  hand.  But  don't  let  them  go  to  your  head, 
dear;  keep  them  at  your  feet." 

"That  argues  want  of  intellect." 

"On  whose  part.'^" 

"Take  it  either  way." 

**Well,  you'll  find  Arthur  West  at  your  feet,  first, 
last  and  all  the  time." 

"I  suppose  I  may  take  that  either  way." 

Flora  laughed  mischievously.  "I  warn  you  that 
Arthur  is  a  good  catch,"  she  said.  "He  will  have  an 
ocean  of  money  some  day,  and  he  is  an  unspoiled  child 
of  fortune;  his  disposition  is  absolutely  perfect. 
When  you  first  meet  him  he  gives  you  the  impression 
of  being  a  bit  of  a  clown,  but  that  is  only  efi^erves- 
cence." 

"Then  he  will  not  be  dependent  on  his  voice  for  a 
livelihood.?" 

"Fortunately  not." 

"Yet  he  takes  his  voice  very  seriously." 

"As  seriously  as  another  takes  the  collecting  of 
stamps  or  candlesticks.    It's  a  harmless  fad." 

144 


MAIDS     LET     DOrWN     THEIR     HAIR 

A  little  Swiss  clock  chimed  two,  and  Flora  started. 

"Why,  where  can  Rhoda  be?"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
had  completely  forgotten  the  child." 

"Perhaps  she  has  fallen  upon  some  such  adventure 
as  myself,"  Hope  suggested. 

"Perhaps." 

Miss  Matheson  stirred  the  fire,  and  Hope  began  to 
braid  her  hair. 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  will  like  Rhoda,"  said 
Flora  meditatively.  "She  is  a  queer  girl,  and  has  ab- 
solutely no  intimates,  unless  I  except  myself.  Even 
I  can  make  little  of  her.  Still,  you  and  Rhoda  are 
such  opposites,  you  may  get  along  together  famously. 
But  it  must  be  long  past  your  bedtime."  Flora  rose. 
"Sleep  as  late  as  you  please.  Molly,  the  housekeeper, 
is  hardened  to  my  erratic  hours.    Good  night." 

Left  alone,  Hope  continued  by  the  fire,  warming 
the  lace-trimmed  and  beribboned  night-dress  laid  out 
for  her,  and  meditating  the  story  of  the  Prince  and 
the  Damozel.  Her  heart  went  out  to  the  love-lorn 
maid.  And  yet  how  lightly  she  had  sped  the  tale :  did 
she  love  the  Prince  so  very  deeply?  The  end  of  the 
story  could  not  have  been  so  long  ago.  The  end  of 
the  story?  It  was  not  yet  ended,  except  for  Princess 
Hope :  her  little  romance  was  over. 

145 


THE    CHARLATANS 

She  pursued  her  meditations  among  the  bedclothes. 

What  romantic  nonsense  her  mind  had  been  running 
on !  Pray,  what  could  she  have  ever  been  to^  Churchill 
Gray?  She  would  not  interest  him  in  the  least.  His 
sneering  reference  to  feminine  society  was  of  a  piece 
with  his  cutting  remarks  concerning  music  students, 
which  still  rankled. 

Him  banished,  her  thoughts  should  be  concentrated 
in  her  music,  never  again  to  be  withdrawn. 

Through  the  partly-opened  window  came  the  sound 
of  carriage  wheels,  stopping  suddenly.  What  a  pleas- 
ant way  to  travel  about  the  city!  The  trolley-cars 
which  Hope  was  forced  to  use  carried  such  ill-smelling 
peoplew 

The  click  of  a  key  turning  a  lock  brought  her  head 
up  from  the  pillow.  She  heard  a  door  shut  softly,  a 
rustle  of  skirts;  then  Flora's  voice  asking:  "Is  that 
you,  Rhoda,  dear.?" 

A  whispered  colloquy,  and  the  house  was  still. 
Hope  fell  asleep. 


146 


CHAPTER    XII 


It  lacked  a  few  minutes  to  the  closing  time  of  the 
Posfs  noon  edition.  The  city  editor,  a  telephone  re- 
ceiver in  each  hand,  was  communicating  with  his  far- 
flung  reportorial  line,  betweenwhiles  snapping  out  in- 
structions to  the  men  about  him.  Copy  readers  were 
struggling  with  refractory  head-lines  and  calling  im- 
patiently for  proofs.  Reporters,  bent  over  pad  or 
typewriter,  were  setting  down  with  nervous  fingers  a 
last  few  phrases  of  inconsequence.  Nimble  copy-boys 
in  buttons  scrambled  and  slid  from  desk  to  desk,  gath- 
ering up  the  flying  leaves.  In  the  thick  of  it  stood 
the  foreman  of  the  composing-room,  awful  in  war- 
paint, masking  volcanic  temper  with  majestic  calm. 

147 


THE    CHARLATANS 

One  grimy  hand  clutched  a  mass  of  proofs  and  copy, 
the  other  was  raised  dramatically,  palm  outward, 
while  from  his  ink-smeared  lips  went  forth  the  familiar 
adhortation :  "Hold  her  down !  Hold  her  down !"  to 
which  nobody  paid  the  slightest  attention. 

Serene  amid  the  wrecks  of  copy  and  the  crush  of 
news,  the  managing  editor  smoked  a  cigarette  and 
looked  thoughtfully  out  of  the  window.  One  would 
have  said  he  meditated  some  momentous  question  of 
journalistic  policy:  actually  he  was  watching  a  pair 
of  pretty  girls,  waiting  on  the  far  side  of  the  street 
for  a  break  in  the  procession  of  drays  and  street-cars. 

Two  other  men  in  the  spacious  unpartitioned  room 
were  tranquil-tempered.  The  exchange  editor  clipped 
with  deliberate  shears.  Mr.  Churchill  Gray,  his  con- 
tributions to  the  editorial  page  despatched,  was  open- 
ing his  mail,  most  of  which  was  addressed :  "Musical 
Editor,  the  Post,'^ 

The  first  communication  examined  was  an  announce- 
ment of  the  forthcoming  appearance  of  a  local  vio- 
linist of  ordinary  attainments,  whom  the  anonymous 
writer  credited  with  "masterly  technic,  superb  tone 
production,  and  poetic  insight." 

"What  more  could  one  say  of  Ysaye?"  remarked 
Gray  to  himself,  jotting  down  a  brief  memorandum 

148 


THE    CRITIC    TO    THE    ''POST" 

/^ 

and   tossing   the   type-written    slip    into    the   waste- 
basket. 

The  second  communication  contained  the  vital  in- 
formation that  Mr.  Worthington  Squeers,  the  emi- 
nent pianist  and  instructor,  had  changed  his  studio 
from  No.  1701  Beaux  Arts  Temple  to  No.  1720. 

The  Post  was  further  informed  that  M.  Gaston 
Prunette,  of  the  French  Opera  (stranded,  M'sieurs  I 
mon  DieUy  was  it  not  terreeble!),  had  consented  to 
remain  in  the  city,  to  equip  for  grand  opera  a  limited 
number  of  exceptionally  talented  pupils;  that  Miss 
Edgarda  Bing  had  been  engaged  as  solo  soprano  for 
the  music  festival  at  Wappinger's  Falls,  New  York; 
that  the  Post  had  neglected  to  review  Miss  Adele 
Maverick's  Thursday  night  concert — with  a  veiled 
suggestion  that  the  Post  critic  was  party  to  a  conspi- 
racy to  suppress  Miss  Maverick,  a  feat  impossible  of 
accomplishment,  let  me  assure  you ; — with  other  mat- 
ter of  equal  moment. 

The  last  envelope  held  an  invitation  to  Mrs.  Addison 
West's  musicale.  This  followed  into  the  waste-basket, 
and  the  critic  to  the  Post  began  to  cut  the  leaves  of  a 
new  book  waiting  review. 

"Two  ladies  to  see  you,  Mr.  Gray,"  a  copy-boy  an- 
nounced.   "Swell  lookers." 

149 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Indeed !"  said  Gray.  "Is  that  your  excuse,  Jimmy, 
for  not  finding  out  what  their  business  is  ?" 

"I  did  ask  'em,  Mr.  Gray,  an'  de  swellest  girl  said 
it  was  a  matter  of  de  utmost  importance." 

"Well,  well !"  he  replied.  "Fetch  a  couple  of  chairs, 
Jimmyj  and  then  escort  the  swell  lookers  here  in  your 
best  style." 

Gray  went  on  cutting  the  leaves  of  his  book,  but  at 
sight  of  Miss  Matheson  and  Miss  Winston  he  rose 
quickly,  and  greeted  them  with  unfeigned  pleasure. 
Miss  Winston  bowed,  somewhat  distantly,  and  drew 
back  a  little  way  the  chair  which  Jimmy  had  placed 
for  her,  leaving  Flora  to  unfold  the  purpose  of  the 
visit. 

The  managing  editor  turned  his  thoughtful  gaze 
in  the  direction  of  the  music  desk;  the  reporters 
crooked  their  necks ;  the  exchange  editor  stilled  his 
shears :  only  the  city  editor  was  oblivious  to  the  radi- 
ance in  the  room. 

"Something  of  the  utmost  importance,  I  am  in- 
formed," said  Gray. 

Flora  Matheson  leaned  forward,  with  an  arm  on  his 
desk. 

"Nothing  short  of  a  sensation,  Mr.  Churchill  Gray. 
The  musical  world  will  be  stirred  from  center  to  cir- 

150 


THE    CRITIC    TO    THE    ''POST" 

/-■ 

cumference.  Mrs.  Addison  West  is — to — give — a — 
musicale !" 

"Ahr 

Gray's  eyes  wandered  to  the  waste-basket.  Flora, 
looking  too,  perceived  the  cause  of  his  abstraction. 
Their  eyes  met,  his  quietly  mirthful,  hers  flashing  with 
pretended  indignation. 

"Cruel  man!"  She  fished  up  Mrs.  West's  invita- 
tion. "But  you  shall  not  escape  so  easily.  Thank 
you  for  the  chair,  Churchill:  I  shall  sit  in  it  till  you 
promise  to  mention  the  musicale  in  next  Saturday's 
music  notes.  No ;  don't  refer  to  the  society  editor ;  I 
refuse  to  see  her.  In  the  music  notes,  or  nowhere,  I 
assure  you." 

"Perhaps  we  can  manage  it,"  Gray  replied  smooth- 
ly, opening  a  memorandum  book. 

"Thank  you,  Churchill."    Flora  beamed. 

"Let  us  see :  I  shall  have  a  third  of  a  column  Satur- 
day for  the  music  notes,  half  of  which  space  I  had 
thought  to  devote  to  a  consideration  of  next  week's 
Herschel  concert — a  rather  important  programme,  as 
Ysaye  is  to  play.  Then  there  is  Victor  Mabbitt's  all- 
Hummel  concert,  worth  ten  or  a  dozen  lines;  three 
other  concerts  of  more  or  less  significance,  and  an  in- 
teresting  and   hitherto   unpublished  anecdote   about 

151 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Brahms.  Now,  in  order  to  make  room  for  Mrs.  West's 
social  affair,  which  would  you  suggest  that  I  cut — the 
Symphony  concert  or  the  Brahms  anecdote.?" 

Flora's  spirits  fell.  "Please,  Churchill !  Can't  you 
squeeze  in  just  a  line  or  two?" 

"The  Post  does  not  use  rubber  type,  Miss  Mathe- 
son." 

She  turned  to  Hope :  "Transfix  this  obstinate  man 
with  a  smile." 

Miss  Winston  appeared  faintly  amused. 

"Qh,  you  will  have  to  do  better  than  that,"  said 
Flora.    "Must  I  resort  to  tears  ?" 

"They  would  be  wasted,  I  think,"  said  Hope.  "Mr. 
Gray  moves  in  a  mysterious  way  .  .  ."  She 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

From  Gray  the  smile  sardonic. 

"I  know  that  grin,"  said  Flora  in  despair.  "The 
case  is  hopeless.  But  promise  me  one  thing,  Churchill, 
and  I'll  forgive  you — and  take  you  to  luncheon  with 
us.'' 

"I  am  listening.  Miss  Matheson." 

"With  deaf  ears.  Well,  come  to  Mrs.  West's  musi- 
cale,  or  social  affair,  and  personally  write  something 
nice  about  it.  I  don't  care  where  you  put  it — in  the 
religious  column,  if  you  wish." 

152 


Please,  Churchill  !  Just  a  line  or  two ! ' '       Page  ij2 


THE    CRITIC   ;rO    THE    '^POST" 

"Thank  you ;  I  shall  consider  the  invitation.  What 
is  it  all  about?" 

"Why,  you  heartless  wretch !  You  didn't  even  read 
it!"  She  smoothed  out  the  crumpled  invitation  res- 
cued from  the  basket.  "  *To  introduce  Miss  Marjorie 
Dodd,  of  Cleveland.'  " 

"In  a  group  of  Mrs.  West's  songs,  I  suppose." 

"I  suppose.  Listen  to  them,  Churchill,  and  you 
shall  be  rewarded.  Miss  Winston  will  give  you  a  cup 
of  coffee  with  her  own  fair  hands,  and  perhaps,  if  you 
are  good,  a  plateful  of  salad." 

"Then  the  invitation  is  already  accepted."  He 
glanced  at  Miss  Winston,  whose  glove  suddenly  re- 
quired fastening. 

"Will  you  come  and  lunch  with  us  now  ?" 

"With  pleasure." 

Gray  closed  his  desk,  and  accompanied  the  young 
women  to  a  near-by  cafe. 

"I  don't  mind  confessing  now,^^  Flora  remarked  to 
Hope,  "that  I  asked  the  lesser  favor  first.  I  did  think 
I  might  induce  Mr.  Gray  to  squeeze  a  line  about  Mrs. 
West's  function  into  his  fearfully-important  music 
notes,  but  I  did  not  dare  to  hope  I  might  persuade  him 
actually  to  attend  the  musicale.  It  was  the  promise 
of  the  cup  of  coffee,  was  it  not,  Churchill .?" 

153 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Without  doubt."     He  looked  smilingly  at  Hope, 

whose  eyes  this  time  met  the  hazel  eyes  steadily  and 

coolly. 

He  thought :  "She  has  not  yet  forgiven  me." 

She  thought:    "It  would  be  impossible  to  remain 

angry  with  him  *very  long." 

"I  haven't  seen  you  to  talk  to  since  you  got  back 

from  the  woods,"  said  Flora.     "You  don't  go  out  so- 
cially at  all,  do  you  V^ 

"I  have  no  social  connections.  Miss  Matheson." 
"That's  a  fib.     I  can  name  a  dozen  drawing-rooms 

that  would  more  than  welcome  you." 

"For  the  advertising  I  might  repay  them  with," 

Gray  returned  dryly.     "Persons  in  my  position  are 

courted  for  no  other  purpose.     I  have  no  illusions  on 

that  subject." 

"You  wrong  your  friends,  I  am  sure." 
"Infrequently  I  may ;  in  the  majority  of  cases  I  do 

not.    The  rule,  not  the  exception,  must  be  my  guide." 
"Mrs.  Maybury  is  one  of  the  exceptions." 
"Naturally.     She  is  not  a  professional  musician, 

nor  a  society  dame.    I  can  be  of  no  advertising  value 

to  her." 

Miss  Matheson  buttered  a  bit  of  bread.     "That  is 

your  Mrs.  Maybury,"  she  said  to  Hope. 

154. 


THE    CRITIC    T-O    THE    *'POST" 

"You  are  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Maybury,  Miss 
Winston?"  Gray  inquired. 

"Very  slightly,"  she  replied. 

Flora  proceeded  to  enlighten  him,  ignoring  Hope's 
protest.  "It  is  quite  a  story.  Mrs.  Maybury  met 
Miss  Winston  in — " 

"The  provinces,"  Hope  supplied. 

"I  hate  that  word  provinces,"  Flora  declared. 
"There  is  always  a  cheap  sneer  in  it." 

"I  am  waiting  for  the  story,"  said  Gray. 

"Mrs.  Maybury  became  interested  in  Miss  Win- 
ston— naturally,  and  urged  her  to  come  to  the  city. 
And  she  sent  you  some  music,  did  she  not-f^" 

"Bach  and  Beethoven  and  Czemy — a  little  of  each : 
that  is  all  I  know  of  music,  not  even  the  A,  B,  C — only 
the  B,  C." 

Miss  Matheson  was  reminded  of  the  man  who 
bought  an  encyclopedia,  one  volume  at  a  time.  "You 
are  very  wise  as  far  as  you  go." 

"A  good  start,  at  all  events,"  said  Gray. 

"And  Miss  Winston — this  will  be  sure  to  interest 
you,  Churchill — Miss  Winston  wept  aloud  when  Mrs. 
Maybury  played  a  Brahms  Rhapsody  for  her.  That 
shows  the  Brahms  temperament,  doesn't  it?" 

"The  evidence  is  strongly  circumstantial." 
155 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Any  one  who  gets  hysterical  over  Brahms  must 
have  the  Brahms  temperament,"  Flora  insisted.  "I'm 
sure  /  haven't." 

"Please,  Flora !"  pleaded  Hope. 

"I  remember  being  swept  off  my  feet  by  the  rhap- 
sodies," said  Gray. 

Sensing  his  growing  interest  in  her,  and  perversely 
resolved  not  to  encourage  it,  Hope  left  the  topic  tan- 
gentially. 

"Won't  you  tell  me  something  about  your  woods .?" 
she  besought  him.    "Do  you  go  to  them  every  year.'"' 

"I  hope  to." 

He  spoke  of  an  inland  voyage  he  had  made  the 
summer  past — a  hundred  miles  or  more;  threading 
the  waterways  of  the  wilderness  in  a  canoe,  bearing 
the  vessel  on  his  shoulders  from  lake  to  lake,  across 
the  carries.  He  had  set  out,  he  said,  to  find  a  certain 
little  lake;  but  he  had  missed  it  after  all  his  toil,  his 
progress  barred  by  a  tamarack  swamp  which  seemed 
to  have  no  bounds — a  swamp  ten  miles  across,  as  he 
afterward  learned.  Next  year  he  meant  to  approach 
the  lake  by  a  more  promising  route. 

"All  that  work  just  to  look  at  a  little  pond  that 
hardly  shows  on  the  map,"  said  Flora,  humoring  the 
folly  of  it  with  a  smile. 

156 


THE    CRITIC'^TO    THE    "POST" 

"And  you  were  all  alone !"  said  Hope,  her  eyes  glis- 
tening. 

He  had  spoken  simply,  but  graphically,  inspired 
by  his  subject;  and  in  imagination  she  had  accompa- 
nied him — silently,  aloofly,  as  some  spirit  of  the  wood. 
She  had  helped  him  lift  the  canoe  over  the  stones  at  the 
landing-places,  and  drop  it  gently  at  the  carry's  end. 
She  had  put  forth  with  him  upon  strange  waters, 
seated  at  the  vessel's  bow,  first  to  glimpse  the  vistas 
of  the  river,  or  the  new  lake  glory  that  the  headland 
screened.  She  had  sat  by  his  camp-fire,  sympathet- 
ically silent,  and  had  watched  the  rose-light  die  and 
the  stars  quiver  forth.  She  had  stood  at  his  side 
when  he  halted  on  the  shore  of  the  great  swamp,  and 
peered  with  him  into  the  green  gloom.     .     .     . 

"Has  your  lake  a  name.^^"  she  asked  him. 

"Not  as  yet,"  said  Gray.    "Will  you  suggest  one.?" 

"The  Lake  of  Dreams,"  she  offered,  and  Flora,  ap- 
proving, added :  "May  they  all  come  true." 

The  girls  parted  from  Gray  at  the  cafe  door.  He 
watched  them  till  they  melted  in  the  stream  of  pedes- 
trians; then  he  turned  officeward  with  the  remark: 
"So  Leith  Maybury  is  interested  in  Miss  Winston! 
She  must  be  the  right  sort." 

157 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Said  Flora  to  her  companion :  "Mrs.  West  has  tried 
to  land  Mr.  Gray  half  a  dozen  times,  and  she  has  to 
thank  you  for  netting  him  at  last." 

Miss  Winston  disclaimed  rosily  a  share  in  Mrs. 
West's  success,  which,  she  intimated,  was  far  from 
assured. 

"Oh,  he'll  come,"  said  Flora  confidently.  "One  can 
see  with  half  an  eye  that  you  have  interested  him." 

"Absurd !    And  I  haven't  the  least  wish  to." 

The  emphatic  note  amused,  while  it  slightly  mysti- 
fied Miss  Matheson.  "That  would  account  for  it 
if  there  were  no  other  reasons,"  she  smiled. 

Hope  shifted  the  talk  to  a  safer,  if  less  interesting 
subject.  "Whither  now.?"  she  asked.  "What  citadels 
of  criticism  remain  to  be  stormed.'^" 

"The  bluffs  of  the  Evening  Telegraph.  We  shall 
carry  them  with  a  rush." 

The  prediction  was  fulfilled,  and,  the  campaign 
over,  the  fair  invaders  returned  to  their  homes. 

That  afternoon  Hope  despatched  a  note  to  Mrs. 
Maybury,  informing  her  that  she  had  made  the  great 
venture,  and  requesting  her  to  indicate  a  day  when  it 
would  be  convenient  to  receive  Miss  Winston  in  person. 


158 


CHAPTER     XIII 

THE       CABOCHON       EMERALD       AGAIN 

At  the  end  of  her  second  week  of  whirling  with  the 
Grindstone,  Miss  Winston  took  an  account  of  musical 
stock.    The  showing  was  not  especially  encouraging. 

Looking  over  her  schedule  of  lessons,  somewhat 
modified  and  expanded,  she  admitted  she  was  getting 
a  great  deal  of  pork  for  her  shilling ;  and  she  was  not 
prepared  to  criticize  the  quahty  of  the  pork:  it  was 
highly  recommended,  and  in  prodigious  demand.  Still, 
judging  by  her  one  means  of  comparison, — her  Bach 
and  Czemy,  which  she  practised  quite  independently 
of  conservatory  methods, — something  was  amiss.  For 
example,  one  Czerny  study,  with  the  appalling  metro- 
nome mark  of  138,  she  had  succeeded,  when  in  Swift- 

159 


THE    CHARLATANS 

water,  in  working  up  to'  120 ;  now  she  was  many 
notches  below  that  tempO'.  If  the  reader  does  nat  com- 
prehend how  discouraging  this  was,  he  is  advised  to 
borrow  a  metronome  and  look  into  the  matter  for  him- 
self. 

Not  to  set  foot  in  the  dreary  wilderness  of  dogma 
(from  which  Heaven  preserve  us!)  it  may  be  said, 
witliout  fear  of  contradiction,  except  from  persons 
with  uncommonly  weird  methods,  that  the  essentials  of 
pianoforte  technic  are  strong  fingers  and  a  loose  wrist. 
Lacking  these,  one  can  not  go  far ;  or  rather,  one  can 
go  so  far  and  no  farther.  (Was  it  Moscheles  that 
failed  of  greatness  because  of  inflexible  wrist?  No 
matter.)  Lacking  these,  one  can  not  acquire  in  per- 
fection that  larger  technic,  not  of  the  fingers,  which 
distinguishes  the  artist  from  the  garden  variety  of 
concert  pianist. 

Eternal  vigilance  is  the  price  of  liberty  of  wrist. 
This  liberty,  natural  in  Hope's  case  (genius  Is  irritat- 
ing to  those  of  us  that  must  toil  for  results),  she  felt 
she  was  losing:  her  fingers  were  not  so  fleet;  half  an 
hour's  practice  tired  them.  She  felt,  too,  slight  pangs 
of  musical  indigestion — a  disease  common  enough, 
though  not  so  common  as  literary  indigestion. 

Her  studies  interested  her:  the  finger  callisthenics, 
160 


THE     CABOGHON     EMERALD 

and  the  various  methods  for  acquiring  arm  power  and 
volume  of  tone,  were  scientifically  plausible ;  Professor 
Van  Wart  was  saturating  her  with  the  spirit  of  the 
masters;  the  dehghtful  Dudelsack  dropped  occasion- 
ally a  gem  that  was  not  pure  paste.  And  yet  with  it 
all  she  felt  the  lack  of  something — just  what,  she  did 
not  know. 

Having  promised  to  refer  to  Doctor  Erdmann  any 
perplexities  that  might  arise,  she  sought  the  president 
of  the  Colossus  and  laid  the  matter  before  him.  He 
listened  attentively,  providing  an  obligato  of  "Yes- 
yes"  ;  and  when  she  paused,  unable  definitely  to  form- 
ulate her  problem,  he  said : 

"My  dear  Miss  Winston,  let  me  counsel  patience. 
I  have  inquired  of  your  instructors,  and  they  report 
satisfactory  progress.  The  only  criticism  comes  from 
Mrs.  Adams,  who  finds  your  piano  playing — er — a 
little  cold,  a  little  cold." 

"I  hope  I  shall  outgrow  that,"  Miss  Winston  mur- 
mured. 

"Yes-yes — of  course :  it  is  not  a  temperamental  de- 
fect. Mrs.  Adams  remarked — jestingly,  of  course — 
that  you  needed — er — an  affair  of  the  heart."  He 
winged  the  arrow  with  a  smile. 

"Indeed?"  said  Hope,  flushing.  "It  seems  to  me, 
161 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Doctor  Erdmann,  that  I  need  technic  more  than  any- 
thing else.    My  fingers — " 

"Yes-yes ;  quite  right.  Technic  first,  passion  after- 
ward. That  will  come,  that  will  come.  .  .  .  Well, 
Miss  Winston,  tell  me  frankly  what  your  wishes  are, 
and  how  I  may  aid  you." 

"I  hardly  know.  But  I  feel  that  I  am  not  getting 
on  so  fast  as  I  ought  to — or  should  like  to." 

"Hmh!"  Doctor  Erdmann  joined  his  finger-tips 
and  put  on  a  thoughtful  look.  "Class  work  is  slow, 
Miss  Winston;  slow,  I  mean,  as  compared  to  private 
instruction,  where  much  more  time  can  be  given ;  and 
private  instruction  is  expensive." 

"Yes;  I  suppose  so — of  course  it  must  be."  She 
realized  she  had  no  tangible  ground  for  complaint. 
"I  am  not  finding  fault,  Doctor  Erdmann;  please  do 
not  think  that.  Of  course  I  do  not  expect  private  in- 
struction. Only — you  see — I  am  anxious  to  get  on; 
I  have  a  long  road  to  go.  Perhaps  if  I  had  fewer 
studies — " 

"As  I  have  said,"  the  president  of  the  Colossus 
pursued,  "our  motto  is.  Encourage  talent  at  any  cost, 
at  any  cost:  let  no  soul  go  unexpressed.  But,  of 
course,  there  are  limits,  there  are  limits;  you  under- 
stand that.   What  studies  especially  interest  you.'^" 

162 


THE     CABOOHON     EMERALD 

"Piano  and  theory,"  was  Hope's  prompt  reply. 

"Professor  Geist,  our  chief  instructor  in  theory, 
charges  six  dollars  the  hour.  Our  best  piano  instruct- 
ors ask  as  much,  or  more." 

Hope  felt  as  a  child  might  that  had  begged  for  the 
moon  and  had  been  gently  reproved. 

"However,"  Doctor  Erdmann  leaned  back  in  his 
chair — "however.  Miss  Winston,  I  have  become  per- 
sonally interested  in  your  artistic  success,  and  the 
item  of  expense  shall  not  stand  in  the  way." 

She  looked  up  swiftly,  and  he  banked  the  fire  of  his 
eyes. 

"As  to  piano,  Mrs.  Adams  will  do  for  the  present ; 
later  we  shall  make  a  change.  As  to  theory,  which 
you  properly  place  second  in  importance,  what  do  you 
say — er — ^to  Professor  Geist?"    His  eyes  twinkled. 

"Oh,  Doctor  Erdmann !" 

He  smiled  indulgently,  resisting  an  impulse  to  pat 
her  cheek, 

"Might  I  study  with  Professor  Geist?" 

"That  is  for  Professor  Geist  to  answer.  Applica- 
tion must  be  made  to  him." 

"But  you  said  that  .  .  .  Professor  Geist 
charges     ,     .     ." 

"I  will  arrange  that  in  the  office.  Miss  Winston.  In 
163 


THE    CHARLATANS 

talking  with  Professor  Geist  it  will  not  be  necessary  to 
allude  to  finances.  That  shall  be  a  little  secret  between 
you  and  me.  In  the  cause  of  Art — "  He  finished  the 
sentence  with  a  gesture  that  implied,  "Hang  the  ex- 
pense !" 

"I  can  not  find  words  to  thank  you,  Doctor  Erd- 
mann."  Hope  was  quite  overcome  with  gratitude. 
"But  I  will  study  hard,  very  hard,  and  I  hope  you  will 
not  be  disappointed  in  me." 

"I  hope  not,  Miss  Winston,"  he  echoed  fervently ; 
"and  I  do  not  think  I  shall.  You  have  youth,  beauty, 
talent — these  are  the  great  things ;  the  rest  will  fol- 
low." 

Hope  rose  precipitately,  pricked  by  the  compliment 
and  the  glance  accompanying  it.  "Thank  you  again. 
Doctor  Erdmann.  I  shall  apply  to  Professor  Geist  at 
once.    Good  morning." 

"Good  morning,  my  dear  Miss  Winston.  Let  me 
know  frequently  how  you  get  on.  Come  in  at  any 
time,  at  any  time.  And — don't  forget  our  little 
secret." 

She  assured  him  she  should  not,  and  departed  in 
high  spirits. 

"Doctor  Erdmann  is  a  dear,"  she  said  to  herself; 
"only  I  wish  he  wouldn't  make  remarks  about  my 

164 


% 


**  That  shall  be  a  little  secret  between  you  and  me  '*      Page  164 


THE     CABOG-HON     EMERALD 

looks.  He  must  have  confidence  in  me,  and  yet  I  do 
not  know  why  he  should.  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  take 
music  seriously,  and  am  not  studying  merely  to  be- 
come a  teacher." 

Madame  Jesurin  was  promptly  informed  of  the 
good  fortune,  Hope  forgetting  until  the  words  were 
out  that  Doctor  Erdmann  had  said  it  should  be  a  little 
secret  between  them.  Madame  was  vocal  in  the  good 
man's  praise.  Such  a  thoughtful,  considerate  gentle- 
man !  Once  he  had  sent  her  a  German  pupil.  Every- 
body spoke  highly  of  him.     He  was  very  popular. 

The  next  morning  brought  another  pleasant  sur- 
prise. The  postman  left  a  square  envelope  containing 
a  ticket  for  that  evening's  Symphony  concert.  There 
was  no  other  inclosure,  except  a  sheet  of  blank  paper 
in  which  the  ticket  was  folded.  The  address,  simply 
"Miss  Winston,  No.  69  Atwood  Street,"  was  type- 
written. 

Who  could  have  sent  it.'*  She  peeped  into  the  en- 
velope to  make  certain  she  had  extracted  all  the  con- 
tents. There  was  only  the  blank  slip  of  paper  and 
the  bit  of  yellow  pasteboard  calling  for  a  seat  in  the 
parquet  of  Music  Hall — J  90.  Who  could  have 
sent  it.? 

Her  mind  ran  the  small  circle  of  her  acquaintance, 
165 


THE    CHARLATANS 

stopping,  on  the  second  round,  at  Doctor  Erdmann. 
Was  this  a  delicate  way  of  further  assisting  her?  In 
spite  of  Mr.  Churchill  Gray's  fling  at  conservatories, 
the  president  of  the  Colossus  no  doubt  appreciated 
the  value  of  the  Herschel  concerts  to  a  young  woman 
seriously  pursuing  the  study  of  music. 

Madame  Jesurin,  coming  in  to  borrow  a  cup  of  su- 
gar, found  her  with  the  ticket  in  her  hand. 

"Eil  EiP'  cried  Madame,  when  informed  of  the  mys- 
terious gift.    "The  fairies  have  sent  it." 

"Then  I  wish  they  had  sent  two,  so  you  might  have 
shared  in  the  good  fortune." 

Madame  laughed,  and  declared  that  fairies  gave 
nothing  to  grown-ups  except  children. 

"But  I,  too,  have  some  good  luck  to  tell  of,"  she 
said.  "You  remember,  Liebchen,  the  interesting  young 
man  with  the  curling  hair,  that  we  met  at  the  concert 
—Mr.  West?" 

Oh,  yes;  Hope  recalled  him  distinctly;  a  pleasant- 
spoken  young  gentleman. 

"He  has  arranged  to  take  both  French  and  German 
lessons." 

Why,  how  delightful !  So  Mr.  West  was  interested 
in  languages.    Of  course ;  he  was  a  singer. 

Gewiss,  Private  lessons.  And  he  did  not  even  ask 
166 


THE     CABOCHON     EMERALD 

Madame's  fee.  Such  a  liberal  person — would  there 
were  more  like  him.  But  he  had  inquired  as  to  her 
method  of  instruction,  and  was  good  enough  to  praise 
it  highly,  rating  it  above  all  others  he  had  knowledge 
of.    He  was  to  come  Tuesday  and  Friday  evenings. 

Hope  smiled,  and  remarked  that  it  was  unfortunate 
Madame  did  not  teach  five  other  languages :  Mr.  West 
might  then  call  every  evening  in  the  week. 

Of  the  ways  and  wiles  of  the  artful  creature  Man, 
Miss  Winston  had  no  experience ;  and  but  for  the  sis- 
terly hint  conveyed  to  her  by  that  wise  virgin,  Flora 
Matheson,  she  might  not  have  suspected  a  connection 
between  Mr.  Arthur  West's  frank  pleasure  in  her  so- 
ciety and  his  sudden  interest  in  foreign  languages. 
But  after  Flora's  blunt  intimation  of  the  young  gen- 
tleman's sentiments  she  could  scarcely  doubt  that  he 
had  taken  up  French  and  German  partly,  at  least,  that 
he  might  be  near  her,  that  his  opportunities  of  seeing 
her  and  talking  with  her  might  be  larger. 

There  may  be  dismal  persons  so  constituted  as  to 
receive  with  indifference  an  intimation  that  he  or  she 
has  inspired  the  sentiment  of  love  in  the  breast  of  some 
member  of  the  opposite  sex ;  but  you  and  I  are  not  of 
this  hopeless  minority,  nor  would  we  wish  to  be.  True, 
the  discovery  may  kindle  no  responsive  flame ;  but  our 

167 


THE    CHARLATANS 

interest  in  the  fortunate  man  or  maid  is  increased  ten- 
fold. We  give  him  (if  it  be  a  man)  generously  of  our 
thought;  we  feel  ourselves  wondering  whether  he 
would  be  very,  very  unhappy  were  we  for  ever  to  with- 
draw the  sun  of  our  presence.  It  would  be  unwise, 
of  course,  consciously  to  encourage  a  hopeless  passion ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  nothing  short  of 
cruel  to  avoid  its  possessor,  or  to  subdue  those  natural 
charms  which  first  allured  him,  and  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  which  he  is  at  least  transiently  happy.  No; 
common  humanity  dictates  that  we  be  to  his  virtues 
very  kind ;  and  generosity  declares  that,  since  the  ulti- 
mate felicity  must  be  withheld,  we  should  not  stint 
those  minor  blessings  with  which  we  are  free  to  dower 
him.  Thus,  a  young  woman  less  tender-hearted  than 
Miss  Winston  would  have  decided  to  remain  at  home, 
as  far  as  possible,  on  Tuesday  and  Friday  evenings. 

Contemplation  of  a  good  deed  induces  a  mental  se- 
renity. In  such  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind  Miss  Win- 
ston set  forth  to  attend  the  third  Symphony  concert. 

Music  Hall  was  crowded,  for  an  eminent  soloist  was 
on  the  programme.  Hope's  parquet  chair  was  on  the 
left  aisle,  ten  rows  from  the  stage ;  and,  recalling  that 
Mr.  Gray  had  said  his  seats  were  well  forward,  she 

168 


THE     CABOCHON     EMERALD 

looked  around  in  the  hope  of  seeing  him ;  as  he  was  not 
visible,  she  concluded  he  must  sit  on  the  other  side  of 
the  house.  The  chair  beside  her  was  unoccupied,  and 
remained  so.  This  was  noteworthy  only  because  no 
other  vacant  seat  was  observable. 

Hope  was  at  first  abashed  by  the  elaborate  toilets  of 
the  women  about  her.  The  odors  they  exhaled  did 
suggest  drug-store  blotters,  as  Gray  had  remarked, 
and  they  wore  a  great  quantity  of  what  is  irreverently 
termed  "junk."  Still,  a  few  were  as  plainly  dressed 
as  herself,  and  the  others  were  dismissed  with  the  open- 
ing measures  of  the  Beethoven  overture. 

When  intermission  came  she  prepared  to  join  the 
promenade  in  the  foyer ;  but  as  the  persons  in  her  im- 
mediate vicinity  elected  to  remain  where  they  were,  she 
was  disinclined  to  make  herself  conspicuous  by  march- 
ing up  the  aisle. 

There  was  such  a  crush  in  the  foyer  when  the  con- 
cert ended  that  the  chance  of  seeing  a  familiar  face 
was  small;  still,  as  she  passed  into  the  vestibule  she 
perceived  Rhoda  Weathers  a  little  distance  ahead,  and 
pressed  forward  to  speak  with  her.  But  she  was  less 
experienced  than  the  other  girl  in  threading  passage 
through  a  crowd,  and  the  space  between  them  widened. 

After  debouching,  the  stream  of  concert-goers 
169 


THE    CHARLATANS 

spread  out,  and  Hope  was  able  to  quicken  her  steps 
and  tread  close  on  Rhoda's  heels.  But  even  as  she 
stretched  out  a  hand  to  touch  the  other's  arm,  Rhoda 
vanished  Into  a  waiting  cab,  and  a  man*s  hand  closed 
the  door  from  within.  This  hand,  clutching  a  glove, 
rested  an  instant  on  the  top  of  the  dropped  sash,  dis- 
closing, on  the  little  finger,  a  ring  which  Hope  had 
seen  before — a  cabochon  emerald  set  in  a  band  of  dull 
steel. 

So!  The  man  in  the  cab  was  Doctor  Rudolf  Erd- 
mann. 

Rhoda  Weathers,  Hope  reflected  on  her  way  home, 
was  a  queer  young  woman j  and  aff^ected  her  strangely. 
Their  acquaintance  was  limited  to  one  meeting,  at 
breakfast  with  Miss  Matheson,  on  which  occasion 
Flora  and  Hope  did  almost  all  the  talking.  Reserved, 
even  with  Miss  Matheson  ("a  difficult  child,"  Flora 
termed  her)  ;  Intense,  as  her  big  brown  eyes  exhibited ; 
given,  as  her  friend  testified,  to  protracted  fits  of  mel- 
ancholy,— Rhoda  Weathers  was  a  sharp  contrast  to 
Hope  Winston,  who  was  reserved  enough  among 
strangers,  but  frank  and  often  impetuous  with  her 
friends. 

Yet,  despite  their  antagonistic  natures,  which  Hope 
170 


THE     CABOCHON     EMERALD 

sensed,  she  was  strongly  attracted  to  the  brown-eyed 
lass:  an  invisible  tie  seemed  to  bind  them  together. 
She  could  not  explain  this,  nor  can  I  do  better  than  to 
quote  Monsieur  Maeterlinck : 

"What  I  say  often  counts  for  so  little,  but  my  pres- 
ence, the  attitude  of  my  soul,  my  future  and  my  past, 
that  which  will  take  birth  in  me,  that  which  is  not  dead, 
a  secret  thought,  the  stars  that  approve,  my  destiny, 
the  thousands  of  mysteries  which  surround  me  and 
float  about  yourself — ^all  this  it  is  that  speaks  to  you 
at  that  tragic  moment.'* 


171 


CHAPTER     XIV 


THE      MAKING      OF      A      GOWN 


Masculine  readers  of  Princess  Hope's  biography 
will,  of  course,  wish  to  know  that  the  material  for  her 
new  gown  was  neither  the  "clinging  black  stuff,"  which 
Miss  Matheson  humorously  suggested,  nor  the  cerise- 
figured  foulard  which  Madame  Jesurin,  who  went 
a-shopping  with  her,  advised.  Hope  selected  a  dove- 
gray  albatross,  to  be  trimmed  simply  with  silk  bands 
of  the  same  gray  tone. 

The  decision  was  not  easily  come  at.  The  problem 
of  expense  had  to  be  considered  in  all  its  perplexing 
details,  and  hours  spent  in  looking  over  fashion  plates 
and  hints. 

17^ 


THE     MAKINP     OF     A     GOWN 

It  was  also  decided  that  Madame  De  Bitte,  who 
hved  in  the  flat  below,  should  cut  and  fit  the  gown. 
Hope  could  sew,  and  Mrs.  Grady's  machine  was  placed 
at  her  disposal. 

"Grand  value,"  said  Madame  De  Bitte,  when  she 
learned  the  price  of  the  gray  albatross.  "Grand 
value ;  you  must  have  got  it  at  a  sale." 

In  spite  of  h-er  name,  Madame  Agnes  De  Bitte  was 
not  an  "importer,"  nor  even  a  "modiste";  she  was 
merely  a  dressmaker.  She  did  not  maintain  a  "par- 
lor," nor  a  "salon,"  nor  an  "atelier^^ ;  just  a  dressmak- 
er's shop.  Madame,  to  go  further,  was  neither  the  in- 
credibly symmetrical  creature  who  designs  the  frocks 
of  society,  nor  the  anaemic  wisp  of  humanity  who 
"goes  out  by  the  day."  She  had  a  great  deal  of 
shape,  such  as  it  was:  her  waist  measure  coquetted 
with  forty ;  and  as,  unlike  a  cup  defender,  she  did  not 
"work  well  in  stays,"  and  so  discarded  them,  her  fig- 
ure may  safely  be  left  to  the  reader's  imagination. 

No  time  was  to  be  lost  in  the  making  of  the  gown, 
as  Mrs.  Addison  West's  musicale  was  for  Thursday 
evening ;  thus  when  Madame  De  Bitte  announced  that 
she  was  ready  to  "try  on,"  Hope  dropped  her  piano 
practice  and  went  below,  Madame  Jesurin  following 
with  her  knitting  and  the  sunshine  of  her  society. 

173 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Behold  Madame  De  Bitte,  sunk  upon  one  knee,  her 
mouth  full  of  pins.  "Will  she  ever  be  able  to  get  up 
again?"    Hope  wondered. 

"You  have  a  grand  figure,  Miss  Winston,"  said  the 
dressmaker,  smoothing  down  the  lines  of  the  skirt. 

Madame  Jesurin  capped  the  compliment  with  a 
more  pointed  reference  to  Miss  Winston's  physical  at- 
tractions ;  whereat  the  young  lady  blushed  a  deep  rose, 
and  steered  the  Countess  on  another  tack, 

"Did  you  attend  the  Buddhist  services  yesterday  .f*" 

No.  Madame  had  decided  that  the  Buddhist  creed 
was  not  precisely  what  her  soul  craved :  Gautama  and 
his  verities  fell  short  of  her  spiritual  needs:  philo- 
sophically considered  they  left  so  much  to  be  desired. 
"I  asked  Sister  Isabelle,  *What  is  truth?'  She  was 
dumfounded." 

Shallow!  shallow!  If  one  can  not  say,  offhand, 
what  truth  is,  there  is  an  end  of  pretension. 

"That  fits  well  over  the  hips,"  said  Madame  De 
Bitte.  She  made  a  botch  of  trying  to  rise,  so  sat  on 
the  floor.    "Now,  shall  I  make  a  train?" 

"I  think  not,"  replied  her  patron.  She  had  never 
worn  a  train,  and  it  seemed  best  not  to  begin  just  yet. 

Madame  Jesurin  voted  for  the  train,  and  Madame 
De  Bitte  sought  to  compromise  on  "a  little  one,"  just 

174 


THE     MAKI]SM3^     OF     A    GOWN 

sweeping  the  floor.    But  Miss  Winston  preferred  that 
the  skirt  should  hang  full,  just  touching  all  around. 

"As  you  please,"  acquiesced  the  dressmaker.  Her 
second  attempt  to  regain  her  feet  was  successful.  "We 
will  now  fit  the  waist.'* 

"I  am  much  attracted  by  New  Thought,"  said  Ma- 
dame Jesurin,  plying  her  knitting  needles.  "It  is  most 
interesting." 

"New  Thought .?"  said  Hope.    "Is  it  a  religion  ?^^ 

^'Gewiss:  a  religion  of  vibrations,  of  thought  force." 

"Be  sure  to  make  the  arms  loose,"  Madame  De  Bitte 
was  instructed. 

*'0h,  you  pianists !"  she  exclaimed,  and  was  remind- 
ed of  the  trials  of  Madame  FriedenthaPs  modiste,  who 
once  delivered  a  frock  to  that  artist,  only  to  be  in- 
formed that  Madame  found  it  impossible  to  play  the 
piano  in  it.  As  it  was  for  a  concert  that  very  night, 
the  modiste  had  to  sit  by  the  piano  and  refit  the  waist, 
Madame  Friedenthal  pausing  in  her  practice  now  and 
then  to  try  on. 

Madame  De  Bitte  had  the  story  from  the  modiste's 
washerwoman ;  for,  of  course,  modistes  and  dressmak- 
ers do  not  move  in  the  same  set. 

"There,  are  those  arms  comfortable  now.?"  she 
asked,  and  was  smilingly  assured  they  were. 

175 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"New  Thought  is  soul  expression  in  its  simplest 
terms,"  Madame  Jesurin  pursued.  "No  priests,  no 
public  services,  no  temples :  wherever  you  may  be,  there 
a  temple  is.    It  is  simplicity  itself." 

"Too  plain,"  said  Madame  De  Bitte,  her  mind  on 
the  gown.    "Steel  passementerie  would  look  well." 

Miss  Winston  demurred. 

"Tell  me  about  the  vibrations,  Madame  Jesurin. 
Do  you  make  them  yourself .?" 

''NatilrlicJi — and  receive  them  from  others.  One 
joins  the  Circle  of  the  Vibrant  Very,  and  exchanges 
thought  waves  of  health,  happiness,  success,  and  so 
on.  One  affirms  the  potentialities  of  vibrant  possi- 
bilities." 

"That  sounds  rather  difficult." 

"Not  at  all.    It  is  all  very  plain." 

"A  little  chiffon  would  relieve  it,"  Madame  De  Bitte 
pleaded. 

"I  think  the  silk  bands  will  be  sufficient,"  replied 
Hope. 

Dressmakers  have  a  mania  for  trimming  on,  just 
as  barbers  for  trimming  off.  The  one  can  not  fathom 
your  desire  for  simplicity,  the  other  your  aversion  to 
a  prison  crop.  Both  must  be  restrained  with  a  firm 
hand. 

176 


THE     MAKIJiTG     OF    A    GOWN 

"It  is  called  Sitting  in  the  Silence,"  said  Madame 
Jesurin. 

Hope  sought  to  image  Madame  sitting  in  the  Si- 
lence.   Alas  for  the  Silence ! 

"One  sits  in  the  Silence,  and  strives,  by  concentra- 
tion, meditation  and  affirmation,  to  vibrate  in  tune 
with  the  great  Chord  of  Truth." 

"The  Chord  of  Truth?"  Hope  harked  back  to  her 
theory  lessons.  "Is  that  the  tonic  chord  of  C  .^  I  have 
read  that  C  is  nature's  key." 

Madame  was  not  prepared  to  affirm  the  root  of  the 
Great  Chord. 

"Or  perhaps  it's  the  dominant.  Truth  crushed  to 
earth,  you  know.  It's  the  same  with  the  dominant; 
you  can't  suppress  it." 

There  were  times  when  Madame  Jesurin  suspected 
that  Miss  Winston  was  politely  guying  her;  but  her 
eyes  were  so  innocent,  her  face  so  demure,  Madame's 
suspicion  was  rootless  as  a  lichen. 

"I  must  put  my  tea-kettle  on,"  she  said,  and  went 
up  stairs. 

When  she  became  an  adept  in  New  Thought  she 
would  likely  boil  water  with  thought-waves.  At  pres- 
ent Mrs.  Grady's  old-thought  cook-stove  would  have 
to  answer. 

177 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Madame  Jesurin  has  a  grand  mind,"  remarked  the 
dressmaker. 

Miss  Winston  agreed,  and  inquired  whether  her 
piano  practice  annoyed  Madame  De  Bitte. 

"Oh,  dear,  not  in  the  least.    It  is  just  hke  playing." 

"Do  you  go  to'  concerts  ?" 

No;  Madame  seldom  attended  a  concert;  few 
dressmaking  hints  are  to  be  picked  up  at  musical 
entertainments ;  the  opera  or  horse-show  is  better. 

The  door-bell  rang  smartly.  Waddling  to  the 
window,  Madame  De  Bitte  saw  a  carriage  and  a 
handsome  pair  of  bays  standing  before  the  house. 
She  answered  the  bell  in  a  flutter :  hitherto  her  patrons 
had  arrived  on  foot. 

"I  am  looking  for  Miss  Winston,"  Hope  heard  the 
visitor  say,  and,  herself  in  a  flutter,  meditated  flight 
up  stairs  via  the  back  hall.  But  before  she  could  eff*ect 
an  escape  the  dressmaker  ushered  Mrs.  Maybury  into 
the  room. 

"So !"  exclaimed  Enlightenment.  "I  have  surprised 
you."  She  took  Hope's  hands  and  pressed  them  aff^ec- 
tlonately .  "No,  no ;  the  dressmaking  shall  not  be  in- 
terrupted ;  I  can  stay  but  a  moment.  I  happened  to  be 
in  this  part  of  town,  so  answered  your  note  in  person. 
What  a  pretty  gray  gown  you  are  making !" 

178 


THE     MAKIJ^G     OF    A    GOWN 

"It's  going  to  be  grand,"  declared  Madame  De 
Bitte.  "But  it's  dreadful  plain;  and  she  won't  let 
me  put  a  thing  on  it.  Now,  wouldn't  you  say  a  lace 
yoke,  or  a  bit  of  chiffon  ?" 

"Miss  Winston  will  relieve  the  plainness,"  rephed 
Mrs.  Maybury,  smiling.  "My  dear  girl,  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you  again,  and  I  wish  to  have  a  long  talk 
with  you  about  your  music  and  yourself.  Can  you 
spend  Friday  with  me? — that  is  the  first  day  I  have 
clear." 

"Yes." 

"Good.  Come  in  the  afternoon,  and  remain  for  din- 
ner. In  the  evening  we  shall  have  some  music.  You 
are  looking  remarkably  fresh  and  well ;  yet  you  write 
me  you  have  been  working  hard." 

"I  am  tireless,  Mrs.  Maybury." 

Enlightenment  sighed,  and  gathered  her  furs  about 
her.  "What  would  I  not  give  for  tirelessness !  Fri- 
day afternoon,  then.    Good-by." 

She  nodded  to  the  dressmaker,  who  held  the  door 
open  reverently,  and  passed  out. 

"A  grand  lady!"  said  Madame  De  Bitte.  "Them 
furs  never  cost  a  cent  less  than  a  thousand  dollars. 
And  she  has  a  footman,  too." 

Her  opinion  of  Miss  Winston  was  correspondingly 
179 


THE    CHARLATANS 

increased.     Fortunately  for  her  patron's  purse,  tlie 
price  of  the  dressmaking  had  been  fixed  in  advance. 

On  Thursday  evening,  at  seven  of  the  clock,  Hope 
stood  before  her  mirror,  putting  a  last  few  touches  to 
her  hair.  Madame  De  Bitte  had  been  summoned  to 
shift  a  hook  in  the  gray  gown's  collar,  and  was  now 
scanning  the  whole  closely  for  a  possible  basting- 
thread. 

The  gown  fitted  perfectly,  and  the  effect  was  charm- 
ing, though  Madame  De  Bitte  still  bemoaned  the  fact 
that  it  was  "dreadful  plain." 

"  'Tain't  too  late,"  she  urged.  "I  have  two  yards 
of  grand  lace  left  over  from  the  last  dress  I  made." 

Hope  remained  adamant  to  Madame's  wiles,  and  the 
dressmaker,  yielding  the  battle  with  a  sixty-pound 
sigh,  departed. 

It  was  almost  time  for  the  carriage  which  Mrs.  West 
was  to  send,  and  Hope  ran  into  Madame  Jesurin's 
apartments  for  that  amiable  critic's  final  word. 

"Achy  Liebcheriy  you  forgot  your  powder,"  said 
Madame. 

"Do  I  need  powder  .f^" 

"Aher  naturlich!    Always  you  put  powder  on." 

"But  I  have  none." 

180 


THE     MAKING    OF    A    GOWN 

Madame  provided  the  indispensable,  and  Mrs. 
Grady  was  then  called  in.  That  good  woman,  in  the 
exuberance  of  her  admiration,  implanted  a  motherly 
kiss  on  Hope's  cheek — but  gingerly,  lest  she  disturb 
a  hair  of  the  picture. 

"Come  in,  dearie,  and  show  yourself  to  John,"  she 
said.     "  'Twill  do  the  man  good." 

The  nominal  head  of  the  Grady  household  lowered 
his  newspaper  and  looked  over  the  rim  of  his  spec- 
tacles. "My,  my !  you're  a  jew'l,"  quoth  he.  "  'Tis  a 
sight  for  sore  eyes.    My !  my !" 

"It's  poetical  ye  are  getting,  John,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Grady;  and  John,  abashed  by  his  own  eloquence, 
plunged  back  into  foreign  politics. 

Both  Madame  and  Mrs.  Grady  saw  Hope  safely  de- 
posited in  the  carriage. 

"Cinderella!"  cried  our  Princess  gaily,  waving  an 
adieu. 

"Contrive  to  lose  a  slipper!"  Madame  called  after 
her. 

"Heaven  bless  the  darlin' !"  said  Mrs.  Grady ;  and 
with  a  comer  of  her  apron  she  wiped  away  a  precious 
tear  of  sentiment. 


181 


CHAPTER     XV 

MRS.      ADDISON      WEST's      MUSICALE 

Mrs.  Addison  West,  as  Miss  Matheson  hinted  to 
Miss  Winston,  was  deservedly  popular  among  the  mu- 
sicians, artists  and  literati  of  her  city.  She  was  a 
liberal  patron  of  the  arts,  she  gave  excellent  dinners, 
and  her  husband's  cigars  and  liqueurs  were  above 
criticism. 

Addison  West  made  his  money  in  real  estate,  and  he 
had  a  great  deal  of  it.  The  West  residence,  a  hand- 
some brick  pile,  was  among  the  largest  and  finest  in 
Prospect  Avenue,  a  street  of  stately  mansions.  Its 
furnishings  were  for  the  most  part  colonial,  as  Mrs. 
West  was  a  Colonial  Dame  ("or  something  of  that 
sort,"  as  her  son  Arthur  would  observe)  ;  and  I,  for 

182 


MRS.     WEST'S     MUSICALE 

one,  can  think  of  no  pleasanter  way  to  pass  a  dull 
hour  than  to  sit  in  her  close-packed  drawing-room  (in 
which  a  cat  can  scarcely  get  about,  so  trophied  is  it 
with  scalp-locks  of  Culture)  and  listen  while  she  reads 
— ^very  musically,  too — from  the  Great  Book  of  Pedi- 
grees. 

Mrs»  West  was  properly  proud  of  her  Bay  State 
ancestry,  as  you  or  I  should  be  were  we  similarly 
blessed.  Strange  to  say,  she  had  never  set  foot  in  New 
England.  She  had  no  living  relatives  within  its  bor- 
ders, and  one  can  not  visit  one's  ancestors — or  is  in  no 
haste  to.  But  her  eyes  were  ever  turned  toward 
Massachusetts,  and  she  used  the  Harvard  "a." 

Mrs.  West  was  uncommonly  tall  and  stately.  She 
had  black  hair,  and  very  dark  and  dreamy  brown  eyes. 
Her  voice,  except  in  club  debate,  was  almost  inaudible, 
and  she  entered  a  room  like  a  shadow :  a  faint  rustling 
of  silk,  and  you  beheld  her. 

The  reader  already  knows  that  she  was  more  inter- 
ested in  music  than  in  almost  any  other  thing.  She 
agreed  with  Doctor  Dudelsack,  whom  she  prodigiously 
admired,  that  of  all  means  of  soul  expression,  music 
was  the  most  satisfactory.  The  reader  also  knows 
that  she  was  a  composer — chiefly  of  songs,  which  she 
dedicated  to  singers  of  her  acquaintance,  who  were 

183 


THE    CHARLATANS 

very  glad  to  sing  them,  I  have  no  doubt.  A  trivial  de- 
tail may  be  added :  the  original  inspiration,  the  heaven- 
bom  melody  of  the  song,  was  harmonized  and  set  in 
contrapuntal  order  by  Doctor  Dudelsack.  These  melo- 
dies Mrs.  West  saw  as  in  a  vision — floating  in  the  air : 
it  was  the  more  prosaic  business  of  Dudelsack  to  seize 
the  unembodied  and  oftentimes  elusive  spirit,  clothe  it 
with  harmonic  flesh,  and  pump  the  red  corpuscles  of 
counterpoint  into  it.  This  operation  commonly  took 
place  in  Mrs.  West's  sanctum  on  the  top  floor  of  the 
house;  a  sequestered  apartment  in  which  it  was  her 
wont  to  "commune  with  her  soul." 

Here,  too,  it  was  frequently  her  privilege  first  to 
hear  those  Dudelsackian  gems  which  later  (in  lec- 
tures) delighted  the  ears  of  students,  and  (in  pro- 
gramme notes)  helped  so  many  music-lovers  through 
the  brambles  of  Brahms  and  the  hazel-brush  of  Rich- 
ard Strauss.  Should  she  ever  forget  with  what  emotion 
she  listened  to  that  masterpiece  beginning — 

"Hark!  Is  that  flimmering  on  the  violins  the 
stealthy  footfall  of  some  ravening  creature  of  the 
wild?  No;  'tis  but  the  night  wind  moaning  through 
rustling  leaves     .     .     . " 

Forget  it  ?    'Twas  graven  on  her  soul. 

Still,  do  not  assume  that  Mrs.  West  was  for  ever  in 
184 


MRS.     WESI^S     MUSICALE 

the  clouds,  for  ever  "communing"  in  her  soul  eyrie. 
It  was  conceded  that  the  Social  Dynamics  Club,  some- 
times referred  to  as  the  Gratiano  Club  (Gratiano,  you 
remember,  spoke  "an  infinite  deal  of  nothing")  never 
had  an  abler  president,  one  with  a  firmer  grasp  on 
large  affairs.  To  observe  Mrs.  West,  gavel  in  hand, 
steering  debate  on  the  moot-question,  "Who  Owns  the 
Earth?"  was  to  exclaim:  "Here  is  a  practical  woman, 
with  no  nonsense  about  her." 

Neither  must  you  assume  that  Mrs.  West's  intel- 
lectual stature  dwarfed  her  husband  to  insignificance, 
as  is  so  often  the  case.  True,  he  fell  within  the  classi- 
fication "commercial,"  and  made  no  pretense  at  Cul- 
ture ;  but  he  had  a  pretty  taste  in  pictures  and  book- 
bindings ;  and  while  he  gave  himself  no  musical  airs, 
and  was  known  privately  to  speak  as  disrespectfully  of 
Doctor  Dudelsack  as  Jeffrey  spoke  of  the  Equator,  yet 
he  was  observed  to  listen  to  good  music  with  a  quiet 
enjoyment,  and  was  a  loyal  supporter,  with  purse  and 
presence,  of  the  Symphony  Orchestra.  Addison  West 
was  quite  as  popular  as  his  versatile  wife;  each  re- 
spected the  other,  agreeing  as  to  the  main  things  in 
life;  and  both  were  extremely  fond  of  their  son,  who 
must  be  reckoned  among  the  most  fortunate  of  youths. 

I  hope  you  have  received  a  definite  impression  of 
185 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Mrs.  West;  for  if  love's  young  dream  should  come 
true  for  a  certain  young  gentleman,  you  would  be  glad 
to  know  what  sort  of  mother-in-law  fell  to  the  lot  of 
Princess  Hope. 

The  possibility  of  such  relationship  was  in  Mrs. 
West's  mind  when  she  greeted  Miss  Winston  on  the 
evening  of  the  musicale.  Critically  regarding  the  ob- 
ject of  her  son's  admiration,  she  acknowledged  the  boy 
had  good  taste ;  and  since  he  must  inevitably  marry  a 
musician,  he  might  go  farther  and  fare  worse.  Thus 
it  was  with  a  faint  touch  of  the  mother-in-law  manner 
that  she  escorted  Miss  Winston  through  the  drawing- 
rooms,  and  presented  her  to  the  celebrities,  major  and 
minor,  that  thronged  them. 

Flora  Matheson,  coming  down  the  stair  from  the 
dressing-room,  first  espied  her  young  friend  in  con- 
verse with  Churchill  Gray,  who  had  arrived  unusually 
early — for  him.  ("In  order,"  said  Flora  cynically, 
"that  he  may  run  away  the  earlier."  ) 

"Oh,  this  will  never  do,"  she  exclaimed,  going  up  to 
the  pair.  "There  is  altogether  too  much  gray  here." 
She  plucked  the  red  roses  from  her  girdle  and  fastened 
them  in  Hope's.  "There,"— standing  off  a  bit  and 
tilting  her  head  critically — "that  improves  the  effect 
wonderfully.    Don't  you  think  so,  Churchill?" 

186 


MRS.     WES  T>S     M  U  S  I  C  A  L  E 

He  did  not  answer  at  once,  occupied  in  comparing 
the  roses  in  Hope's  cheeks  with  those  given  her  by 
Flora. 

"I  would  suggest  one  flower  in  the  hair,"  he  said 
at  last. 

Flora  acted  on  the  suggestion,  declaring :  "You  are 
an  artist,  Churchill." 

"Better  have  escaped  hanging,"  he  replied. 

"And  worse  have  not.  I  leave  him  in  your  charge, 
Hope,  and  shall  hold  you  accountable  if  he  runs 
away." 

With  which  Flora  left  them,  and  hastened  to  greet 
Mr.  Stanley  Arthur  Jones,  who,  looking  very  hand- 
some and  distinguished,  bent  over  her  finger-tips  in 
quite  the  manner  of  a  Gentleman  of  France. 

The  movement  of  this  history  being,  to  say  the  least, 
deliberate,  we  need  not  stand  still  to  consider  the  star 
of  the  present  evening,  Marjorie  Dodd.  Let  it  suffice 
that  she  was  blonde  and  assertive,  and  that  she  sang 
indifferently  well.  Nor  need  we  pause  critically  to  ex- 
amine the  half-dozen  songs  she  sang  (Minerva  West: 
opus  SI).  Must  you  be  informed  that  they  were 
lovely,  charming,  splendid,  sweet,  cute?  Surely  not. 
You  in  your  time  have  murmured  the  adjectives,  and 
meant  them  every  whit  as  sincerely.     They  are  much 

187 


THE    CHARLATANS 

easier  to  say  (in  public)  than  stupid,  trivial,  foolish, 
worthless. 

This  song  group  was  the  only  set  piece  of  the  musi- 
cal fireworks.  With  the  last  shower  of  sparks  the 
audience  broke  ranks,  thereafter  to  listen  or  not,  as 
they  pleased,  to  what  might  follow. 

Relieved  of  the  task  of  turning  music  for  Doctor 
Dudelsack,  who  played  Miss  Dodd's  accompaniments, 
Arthur  West  looked  around  for  Miss  Winston.  He 
found  her  with  his  mother,  who  presently  was  attracted 
elsewhere. 

"Aren't  your  ears  burning?"  he  asked,  dropping 
into  the  vacated  seat. 

"No.    Why?" 

"So  many  compliments  flying  about.  Shall  I  re- 
peat them  ?" 

"If  you  do  I'll  go  and  talk  to  Doctor  Dudelsack." 

"CflTi  you?  I  get  seasick  listening  to  him.  'Hark! 
is  that  glimmering  on  the  violins  the  stealthy  footfall* 

.  .  .  How  does  the  rest  of  it  go?  Mother  knows 
it  by  heart." 

"It  is  worth  remembering.  Tell  me,  who  is  that 
important-looking  person?"  She  indicated  a  languid 
gentleman  by  the  piano,  in  conversation  with  Miss 
Dodd. 

188 


MRS.     WEST^S     MUSICALE 

"That  ?  Oh,  sh-h-h !— That's  Whelplej,  of  the  Mw 
steal  Sandbagger" 

"Then  he  is  as  important  as  he  looks." 

"More  so,  if  anything.  He  holds  the  destinies  of 
all  musicians  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  But  he's 
condescending  —  frightfully  condescending.  .  .  . 
Hello!  there's  Van  Wart." 

''That  Professor  Van  Wart  ?    Oh,  no !" 

"Fact,  I  assure  you." 

She  stared,  incredulous.  Could  that  jolly  little  ball 
of  a  man,  with  the  hearty  laugh  and  the  twinkling 
eyes,  circulating  about  the  room  with  a  nod  here  and 
a  hand-shake  there — could  that  be  the  dismal  indi- 
vidual who  communed  with  the  spirits  of  the  masters 
in  the  Studio  of  the  Soul.? 

"Quite  another  chap  when  he  goes  out  socially," 
said  Arthur.    "Checks  his  soul  with  his  hat." 

Hope  bubbled  with  merriment,  and  rewarded  the 
happy  young  man  at  her  side  with  a  glance  that  was 
almost  tender. 

And  with  this  he  was  forced  to  be  content  for  a 
little  while;  for  Karl  Geist,  yielding  perforce  to  the 
gentle  beseechment  of  the  hostess,  favored  the  com- 
pany with  a  violin  selection. 

Hope,  who  had  never  heard  him  touch  bow  to 
189 


THE    CHARLATANS 

string  before,  was  surprised  by  the  fire  and  the  poetry 
of  his  playing,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was  seemingly 
indifferent  to  the  effect  he  might  be  producing.  She 
discovered  that  he  had  the  same  power  to  move  her  pos- 
sessed by  Madame  Friedenthal,  which  she  found  so 
lamentably  lacking  in  the  Grindstone's  staff  pianists 
and  fiddlers. 

"What  was  it?"  she  asked  Arthur  eagerly. 

"Andante,  by  Godard,  or  something  of  that  sort," 
he  answered,  and  laughed:  "Mother  ambushed  Karl 
Geist  neatly.  You  know  he  never  takes  his  fiddle  with 
him — simply  refuses ;  so  mother  got  one  and  had  it  all 
ready  for  him." 

Hope  smiled,  though  inwardly  she  disapproved  of 
Mrs.  West's  stratagem.  "I  suppose  Professor  Geist 
gets  tired  of  the  sound  of  a  violin,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  no ;  he  teaches  very  few  pupils — only  the  most 
advanced;  and  he  will  scrape  by  the  hour  for  you  if 
he  happens  to  feel  like  it.  He  doesn't  play  like  a 
teacher,  does  he?" 

"Why  does  he  not  give  concerts?" 

"He  claims,  for  one  thing,  that  he  hasn't  enough 
technic,  and,  for  another,  that  he  would  rather  teach 
than  eat.     He  is  a  born  teacher." 

"But  to  play  before  thousands,  to  hold  them  in  a 
190 


MRS.    WES'P'S     MUSICALE 

spell  of  enchantment!    Oh,  to  make  them  feel  what  / 
have  felt!" 

"Geist,  I  think,  would  rather  teach  them  to  do  that 
than  do  it  himself.  When  he  gets  hold  of  a  promising 
pupil,  like  Rhoda  Weathers,  he  will  work  harder  than 
she  will.  In  Rhoda's  case,  however,  I  suspect  he  is  in- 
terested in  more  ways  than  one.  .  .  .  Oh,  Lord !" 
Arthur  groaned  sepulchrally.  "Fanny  Skinner  is  go- 
ing to  screech.  Why  didn't  we  escape  when  we  had 
the  chance?" 

He  glanced  ruefully  at  the  one  semi-secluded  nook 
in  the  overlighted  mansion,  the  hall  settle  in  the  angle 
of  the  stair,  now  in  possession  of  Karl  Geist  and 
Churchill  Gray. 

Miss  Skinner  expressed  vocally  the  mournful  fact 
that  "there  are  no  birds  in  last  year's  nests,"  and  un- 
der cover  of  the  applause  that  followed,  Arthur  and 
Hope  joined  the  pair  in  the  cozy-comer.  Gray  sur- 
rendered his  seat  to  Miss  Winston,  and  Arthur  fetched 
a  couple  of  chairs. 

Mrs.  Romanta  Drewl,  an  elocutionist,  after  much 
cajoling,  was  finally  persuaded  to  recite  something. 

"It's  a  shame  to  tease  her  so,"  West  declared. 

"Is  there  any  one  more  reluctant  about  coming  for- 
ward than  an  elocutionist  .'*"  Geist  queried. 

191 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"A  lady  harp-player,"  mildly  suggested  Gray. 

"Silence  on  the  anvils !"  Arthur  commanded,  as  the 
elocutionist  began. 

They  disposed  themselves  resignedly  to  listen,  now 
and  then  exchanging  glances  of  cheer  and  comfort. 
Suddenly  a  strange  thing  happened;  the  elocutionist 
broke  down ! 

"A  miracle !"  Geist  exclaimed  sotto  voce. 

"Nothing  short  of  one  could  have  saved  us,"  said 
Gray. 

"Don't  halloo  till  you're  out  of  the  woods,"  said 
Hope.    "She  may  try  something  else." 

The  suggestion  alarmed  them,  but  needlessly. 

"She's  done  for,"  said  Arthur  gleefully.  "The 
catastrophe  has  stunned  her.  See,  they  are  leading 
her  away." 

A  murmur  of  sympathy  and  admiration  went  round. 
"Wasn't  it  a  lovely  little  thing!  Don't  you  think  it 
was  a  lovely  Httle  thing?"  "Isn't  it  too  bad  she  can't 
remember  the  rest!"  "It  was  awfully  good  of  her  to 
try.     ..." 

"And  now  again,"  said  Geist,  "the  coy  and  diffident 
Miss  Skinner." 

Miss  Skinner  was  heard  to  remark  to  her  accom- 
panist that  she  would  "sing  that  nocturne  now."    And 

192 


'  The  CO/  and  diffident  Miss  Skinner  '*       Page  ip2 


MRS.    WEST-^S     MUSICALE 

to  the  company,  pref atorily :  "I  can't  sing  at  all  this 
evening :  I  don't  know  what  the  trouble  is." 

The  nocturne  went  lamely. 

"Really,"  declared  the  cantatrice,  "with  my  throat 
in  such  condition  it  is  positively  cruel  for  me  to  sing." 

The  Cozy-Corner  Quartette  (aside) — "To  us,  yes." 

"However" — Miss  Skinner  placed  a  third  song  be- 
fore her  accompanist — "this  may  go  better." 

No  comparisons  were  drawn — pubHcly. 

The  Cozy-Corner  Quartette   (aside) — "Lord,  now 
lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace. ^^ 

Miss  Skinner's  departure  was  heartily  acclaimed  by 
all  present. 

"Mynheer  Van  Wart  is  now  besought,"  remarked 
Gray. 

"Oh,  good!"  exclaimed  Hope.     "I  am  curious  to 
hear  him  play." 

"I  fear  your  curiosity  will  remain  unsatisfied,"  said 
Geist  dryly ;  "mine  has." 

"But  he  was  Liszt's  favorite  favorite  pupil." 

"Johnson  had  his  Boswell." 

"But  Boswell  was  not  unable  to  write,"  Gray  ob- 
served. 

"I  dare  say  Van  Wart  can  play.     Still,  it  is  some- 
thing to  refrain." 

193 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"At  least  it  disarms  criticism,"  said  Hope. 

Said  Arthur:  "My  opinion  is  that  Van  Wart  was 
so  busy  picking  up  Liszt's  collar-buttons,  cigarette 
stubs  and  burnt  matches,  he  hadn't  time  to  learn  much 
about  piano  playing." 

Flora  Matheson  approached. 

"Mrs.  West,"  she  said,  "presents  her  compliments 
to  Professor  Geist,  and  will  he  be  so  adorable  as  to 
play  a  Grieg  sonata  with  Mr.  Victor  Mabbitt  who,  for 
his  part,  has  consented." 

Geist  rose,  then  turned  a  quizzical  look  upon  the 
other  members  of  the  Cozy-Corner  Quartette. 

"Dare  I  'leave  my  reputation  behind  me'  ?" 

"I'll  defend  it  for  you,"  said  Flora,  taking  his  seat. 

"You  1"  Geist  gestured  despair.  "Then  I  am  indeed 
lost." 

Their  mocking  laughter  followed  him. 


194 


CHAPTER  XVI 


A   FURTHER   ACCOUNT   OF   THE   MUSI- 
CAL E 

Doubtless  there  were  carpers  on  Olympus  to  pick 
flaws  in  the  songs  of  Apollo.  It  is  less  conceivable 
that  the  drink  of  the  gods  suffered  criticism ;  from  all 
accounts,  Nectar  was  an  incomparable  wine,  unsur- 
passed to  this  day.  Thus,  the  company  that  listened 
to  the  songs  of  Minerva  West  may  have  harbored 
various  opinions  as  to  their  merits,  but  of  the  punch 
which  Addison  West  composed  for  the  occasion  there 
was  only  one  opinion,  and  that  a  golden. 

As  a  composer  of  polyphonic  punches.  West  was 
worthy  of  place  among  the  old  masters.  The  list  of 
his  compositions  rivaled  in  number  those  of  Orlando  di 

195 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Lasso,  in  diversity  those  of  Mozart.  His  "Eroica" 
punch  (opus  53)  was  famous :  composed  in  the  Phryg- 
ian mode,  it  fired  the  consumer  with  a  lofty  patriotism 
and  a  reckless  valor,  happily  unrequired  by  any  sub- 
sequent emergency.  Another  famous  opus,  composed 
in  the  Eolian  mode,  was  his  "Bacchanal,"  reserved  for 
stag  parties,  as  being  a  trifle  too  festive  for  politer 
gatherings.  On  the  infrequent  occasions  when  his 
wife  entertained  the  Social  Dynamics  Club,  West  ven- 
tured the  Lydian  mode.  The  result  was  sufficiently 
melancholy. 

Connoisseurs  preferred  his  absolute  punch  to  his 
programme  or  descriptive  compositions.  As  Karl 
Geist  put  it.  West's  absolute  punch  did  not  appeal 
merely  to  the  senses ;  it  revealed  imagination,  and  de- 
manded imagination  on  the  part  of  the  imbiber.  To 
miss  the  intellectual  note  v/as  to  miss  the  whole. 

West's  latest  opus,  which  was  among  his  most  suc- 
cessful, may  be  described  as  a  free  fantasia.  It  con- 
tained a  little  of  everything ;  yet  the  harmonic  web  was 
so  deftly  woven,  the  pattern  so  cunningly  contrived 
(here,  if  anywhere,  a  mixed  metaphor  is  pardonable), 
'twas  impossible  to  detect  a  thread-end. 

Under  the  benign  influence  of  this  concoction  the 
bores  became  endurable,  and  the  stiff'ness  of  the  bored 

196 


A     FURTlHER     ACCOUNT 

relaxed ;  the  judicious  gave  over  grieving,  and  the  un- 
skilful laughed  the  louder.    A  memorable  punch ! 

The  denser  refreshments  which  accompanied  it  were 
in  keeping.  Ambrosial  salads,  sandwiches  and  coffee 
were  dispensed  by  half  a  dozen  pretty  maids.  Miss 
Winston  among  the  number ;  and  more  than  once,  hear- 
ing herself  compared  to  Hebe,  Hope  felt  her  ears  bum 
smartly  with  her  cheeks.  She  declined  the  punch  to 
which  the  junior  West  invited  her:  she  was  sufficiently 
excited  by  the  social  electricity.  And  when  Churchill 
Gray  presented  himself  for  the  promised  cup  of  coffee, 
she  gave  it  to  him  with  a  hand  that  trembled  a  little. 

"I  hope  it  will  not  keep  you  awake,"  she  smiled. 

"Nothing  is  more  certain,"  he  said. 

"Then  already  I  am  conscience-stricken." 

"Radiantly  so." 

"I  conceal  my  pleasures  poorly^  I  know.  Still,  I 
would  not  give  you  sleepless  nights." 

"You  have  assured  me  such  already :  the  coffee  will 
be  merely  incidental." 

She  flushed.    "You  have  tried  the  punch,  I  see." 

"And  deserve  the  thrust,"  he  answered  humbly. 
"This  draft  is  bitter  now." 

"Permit  me."  She  dropped  another  lump  of  sugar 
in  his  coffee. 

197 


THE    CHARLATANS 

He  thanked  her  gravely,  and  gave  place  to  Stanley 
Arthur  Jones,  riding  his  archaic  hobby-horse. 

"Three  cubes  of  sweetness  and  the  merest  hint  of 
cream,"  said  the  author. 

Hope  passed  the  cup  with  the  remark :  "The  formula 
suggests  Miss  Matheson." 

Mr.  Jones  bowed.  "A  replica  for  myself,"  he  re- 
quested.   "Our  tastes  are  parallel." 

"Parallel  tastes  never  meet,  Mr.  Jones.'* 

He  smiled  flashingly.  "Shrewdly  worded,  egad! 
Your  servant.  Miss  Winston." 

Mynheer  Van  Wart  and  Victor  Mabbitt  appeared. 

"Black  coffee,  if  you  please,"  said  the  former. 

She  gave  it  to  him  with  the  admonishment:  "Con- 
sider your  nerves.  Professor." 

"Nerves?  Nerves?"  He  turned  to  Mabbitt :  "What 
are  nerves,  Victor  ?" 

"The  plural  puzzles  you,  I  see,"  said  Mabbitt. 

*'Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Van  Wart,  clapping  the  other 
on  the  shoulder. 

Fragments  of  dialogue  floated  by  the  coffee-urn. 
Mrs.  Romanta  Drewl,  complimenting  the  evening  star, 
remarked :  "You  are  in  such  refreshing  contrast.  Miss 
Dodd,  to  the  run  of  musicians.  They  pay  so  little  at- 
tention to  stage  presence,  more  especially  instrumental 

198 


A    FURT'HER     ACCOUNT 

artists.  The  average  pianist  is  either  abrupt  and 
jerky  or  haphazard  and  slouchy ;  as  if  nothing  was  of 
importance  except  the  playing.  You  have  seen  Ma- 
dame Friedenthal  carry  roses  off  the  stage.  Isn't  it 
absurd!  You  would  think  they  were  red-hot.  And 
with  her  handkerchief  wrapped  round  the  stems! 
Afraid  of  hurting  her  hands,  I  suppose." 

Arthur  West  was  telling  a  lady  that  it  was  too  bad 
the  So^and-So's  were  unblessed  with  children.  Said 
Arthur:  "They  ought  to  have  a  son  or  a  daughter, 
or  something  of  that  sort."    Whereat  the  lady  tittered. 

Another  lady,  presented  to  Mynheer  Van  Wart,  in- 
quired: "And  how  is  Mrs.  Van  Wart.^*  I  remember 
her  piano  playing  with  so  much  pleasure." 

"Madame,"  returned  Van  Wart,  "you  must  be 
thinking  of  my  first  wife ;  my  present  wife  is  a  singer." 

Flora  Matheson  was  explaining  the  Sudo  piano 
method  to  Mr.  Jones :  "You  count — one,  two,  three — 
at  each  count  describing  with  your  finger  a  circle  in 
the  air.  At  four  you  strike  the  piano.  This  devital- 
izes the  wrist." 

"Ah,  yes.    And  the  object  of  devitalization .f^" 

"That  the  soul's  inspiration  may  flow  unimpeded  to 
the  finger-tips." 

"Egad,  how  very  interesting !  But  why  the  circle.'^" 
199 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"The  circle  is  a  symbol  of  perfection,"  expounded 
Miss  Matheson. 

"Fore  gad,  Miss  Flora,  I  am  cousin  to  Dullness.  I 
observe,  then,  that  you  are  three  hours  in  the  air  to 
one  on  the  keyboard." 

"Now  you  are  bright  again." 

"Reflected  light,  from  a  central  luminary." 

"I  read  that  in  a  book — one  of  yours." 

"History  repeats  itself :  may  not  the  historical  nov- 
elist.?" 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  method  .f^" 

"There's  madness  in  it." 

"It  has  the  approval  of  Karl  Geist." 

"Praise  from  Sir  Hubert,"  murmured  Mr.  Jones. 

"Professor  Geist  declares  that  if  one  pursues  the 
circle  of  perfection,  one  can  not  fail  to  become  an  all- 
round  player." 

"I  suspect  a  witticism." 

"Discerning  man !  I  am  positive  a  witticism  was  in- 
tended." 

"Why,  what  has  become  of  all  the  men  ?"  exclaimed 
Minerva  West,  half  an  hour  later.  "Flora,  dear, 
won't  you  run  up  to  Mr.  West's  den  and  rout  out  the 
deserters.    Mar j  orie  Dodd  is  going  to  sing  again." 

200 


A    FURTHER     ACCOUNT 

Miss  Matheson  departed  on  her  mission,  and,  meet- 
ing Miss  Winston  on  the  way,  impressed  her  into  the 
man-drive.  "We  may  start  up  one  or  two,"  she  re- 
marked, as  they  went  up  the  stair,  "though  we  can't 
expect  to  stampede  the  herd." 

The  entrance  to  Addison  West's  den  was  fogged 
with  tobacco  smoke,  through  which  the  recreant  males 
were  dimly  discernible.  Their  comfortable  attitudes 
need  not  be  described.  You,  Sir,  know  how  agreeable 
it  is  to  sprawl  in  easy  chair  or  on  divan,  far  from  the 
madding  elocutionist  or  singer,  with  a  glass  of  Scotch 
in  one  hand  and  a  choice  Havana  in  the  other.  You, 
Madame,  who  must  sit  so  stiffly  at  a  musicale,  no  mat- 
ter how  informal,  have  often  envied  your  consort — 
no,  not  his  Scotch  and  tobacco.  Heaven  forbid!  nor 
even  his  recumbent  attitude;  but  the  intellectual  at- 
mosphere in  which  he  steeps  himself.  You  have 
sighed,  and  wished  you  were  one  of  the  party;  for 
beyond  question  the  conversation  at  such  gatherings 
is  of  a  high  order,  and  stimulating  to  one's  intel- 
lectuals. 

"Doesn't  Van  Wart  look  comfy,  though!"  whis- 
pered Flora,  as  the  girls  halted  without  the  den. 

In  very  sooth,  as  Mr.  Jones  would  say,  the  soul 
medium  of  the  music  masters  was  comfortably  dis- 

201 


THE    CHARLATANS 

posed.  He  sat  Turkwise  on  a  leather  couch,  one 
chubby  fist  clasping  a  glass  of  Highland  dew,  the 
other  a  siphon. 

"Hist !  he  speaks !"  said  Hope. 

They  tiptoed  forward  and  listened. 

"I  must  have  played  him  for  three-quarters  of  an 
hour,"  they  heard  him  say,  "until  I  was  cramped  in 
every  joint,  and  there  was  no  more  feeling  in  my  hands 
than  in  two  blocks  of  wood;  and  just  as  I  got  him 
within  ten  feet  of  the  boat  I'm  damned  if  he  didn't 
get  away !" 

From  out  the  fog  came  murmurs  of  piscatorial  sym- 
pathy and  a  hiss  of  carbonic  water;  outside  the  door 
a  peal  of  laughter.  Churchill  Gray  rose  quickly,  the 
other  gentlemen  following  suit. 

"Come  in,  girls,"  invited  Addison  West,  putting 
down  a  new  muskallonge  rod  he  had  been  exhibiting. 

But  the  girls  declined  to  join  the  deserters.  "We 
are  constabulary  of  Apollo,"  Miss  Matheson  an- 
nounced, "commanded  to  fetch  you  all  below  stairs, 
dead  or  alive." 

"Hang  Apollo!"  cried  Van  Wart  gaily.     "I  for 
one  refuse  to  surrender." 

"What  is  the  penalty  for  resisting  the  constabu- 
lary ?"  inquired  Victor  Mabbitt, 

202 


A     FURTHER     ACCOUNT 

*^They  are  irresistible,"  Karl  Geist  protested. 

"We  may  as  well  surrender  gracefully,"  said  Gray. 

"Capitulation,  gentlemen,"  observed  the  elder  West, 
"suggests  that  stirring  picture.  The  Last  Round. 
Shall  we  pose  it?" 

The  ammunition  bottle  circled  for  the  final  volley. 
The  devoted  little  band  raised  their  glasses. 

*'The  fair  constabulary !"  pledged  Gray. 

"God  bless  'em !"  Van  Wart  added  fervently. 

The  last  round  was  enthusiastically  discharged,  and 
the  garrison  filed  out. 

Of  the  delightful  fate  that  waited  them  below  I 
need  only  hint.  Marjorie  Dodd  sang  several  songs; 
Fannie  Skinner  was  prevailed  on  to  try  once  more; 
and  Mrs.  Romanta  Drewl,  at  the  very  moment  when 
her  friends  despaired  of  persuading  her,  consented  to 
recite  a  little  something  which  was  voted  cute  and 
sweet. 

A  thoroughly  charming  evening,  every  one  declared, 
and  none  mope  sincerely  than  a  certain  young  woman 
in  dove-gray  albatross,  who  rode  home  swiftly  in 
a  carriage.  Flora  Matheson  accompanying  her  part 
of  the  way. 

"You  were  simply  bewitching  to-night,"  declared 
the  amiable  Flora,  with  an  affectionate  pat.     "The 

203 


THE    CHARLATANS 

men  raved  about  you  openly,  and  the  women  admired 
your  modesty  and  reserve.  Modesty  covers  a  multi- 
tude of  charms.  Heigh-ho !  I  wish  /  were  a  musical 
genius," 

"I  wish  /  were,  too,"  Hope  echoed. 

"Even  modesty  may  be  pushed  too  far,"  said  Flora. 
"You  are  a  musical  genius,  my  dear,  and  when  taxed 
with  it  you  may  as  well  confess." 

"But — what  ha've  I  done     .     .     .  " 

"It  isn't  what  you  have  done,  but  what  you  are 
going  to  do.    That's  logic,  isn't  it.?" 

"The  logic  of  our  sex." 

"We  should  be  foolish  to  try  to  improve  on  it. 

.  .  .  Well,  dearie,  you  have  made  a  good  start 
socially;  follow  it  up.  You  can't  make  too  many 
friends." 

The  young  person  to  whom  this  dubious  advice  was 
given  was  the  subject  of  a  conversation  between  two 
gentlemen  who  were  walking  homeward. 

"By  the  way,"  remarked  Karl  Geist,  "I  have  a  new 
pupil  in  theory,  the  beautiful  Miss  Winston." 

"I  congratulate  the  beautiful  Miss  Winston,"  said 
Churchill  Gray. 

"Erdmann  says  she  is  a  genius." 
204 


A    FURT-HER    ACCOUNT 

"Indeed?  And  how  does  Erdmann  know?"  inquired 
Gray  ? 

"She  may  have  informed  him.  Such  confidences  are 
not  rare." 

"I  prefer  your  own  conclusion." 

"It  is  a  bit  early  to  form  one;  but  I  am  favorably 
impressed.  She  has  that  peculiar  assimilation  which 
genius  exhibits.  When  you  tell  her  to  write  something 
you  instinctively  feel  she  is  going  to  write  it  cor- 
rectly." 

"Then  I  congratulate  teacher  as  well  as  pupil." 

"She  is  from  the  country,  I  understand." 

"I  believe  so.    Poor  as  Job's  turkey." 

"So?    Who,  then,  pays  me  six  dollars  an  hour?" 

"True ;  I  overlooked  that.  Very  likely  I  was  misin- 
formed." 

The  subject  was  not  pursued.  After  a  pause  Geist 
resumed:  "Young  West  is  extremely  attentive  to  the 
beautiful  Miss  Winston." 

"I  observed  as  much." 

"Our  literary  friend,  Mr.  Jones,  seems  equally  smit- 
ten with  Miss  Matheson.    It  looks  like  a  match." 

Gray  returned  an  indifferent  affirmative. 

They  separated  as  a  carriage  containing  the  fair 
subjects  of  their  colloquy  whirled  by  them. 

205 


CHAPTER    XVII 


IN     WHICH     A      YOUNG     GENTIiEMAN     PRE- 
SUMES     TO      ADVISE      A      YOUNG      LADY 

When  Leith  Maybury  sighed  and  gathered  her  furs 
about  her  (three  chapters  back), she  was  thinking,  for 
the  thousandth  time,  how  inadequate  was  her  physical 
equipment  to  the  demands  of  the  concert  grand  piano. 
A  little  strength  properly  applied  will  lift  a  consider- 
able weight,  and  Mrs.  Maybury,  scantily  dowered 
with  that  which  nature  gives  prodigally  to  many  an- 
other, had  accomplished  a  great  deal  in  a  lifting  way ; 
but  the  great  weights  were  beyond  her  power,  and  the 
thought  of  it  cost  her  many  a  tear.  Denied  the  du- 
bious pleasures  of  a  professional  career  (she  had  no 
need  of  its  profits),  she  cultivated  music  for  her  own 
enjoyment  and  that  of  her  husband  and  her  friends. 

206 


A     YOUNG     GENiTLEMAN     ADVISES 

Robert  Maybury,  though  honestly  regretful  that 
his  wife  should  have  a  single  desire  he  was  unable  to 
gratify,  accepted  the  decree  of  fate  more  cheerfully 
than  she.  He  was  of  a  domestic  turn,  and  his  inti- 
mates on  the  Board  of  Trade,  of  which  he  was  a 
wealthy  and  influential  member,  were  seldom  success- 
ful in  luring  "Bob"  Maybury  from  his  own  fireside, 
for  which  he  confessed  a  foolish  fondness.  His  wife 
was  not  domestic  in  her  tastes ;  by  which  I  mean  she 
lacked  nearly  all  those  housewifely  attributes  which 
are  frankly  approved  by  ninety-nine  men  and  secretly 
esteemed  by  the  hundredth.  Nevertheless,  she  made  a 
charming  home  for  her  devoted  Robert,  and  preferred 
his  society  to  any  other  person's.  Could  the  most  do- 
mestic of  women  do  more? 

Maybury's  home  was  on  Prospect  Boulevard,  a  few 
squares  from  Addison  West's  mansion,  from  which  it 
differed  as  the  pearl  differs  from  the  diamond  in  glory. 
The  Maybury  residence  was  furnished  simply  and  in 
unerring  taste,  and  its  evening  lights  were  low  and 
shaded.  Into  such  a  picture  Mrs.  Addison  West,  with 
her  ancestral  ghosts,  her  noiseless  tread  and  pianissimo 
voice,  would  seem  to  fit  exactly ;  and  I  count  it  odd  that 
her  own  mansion  should  present  a  contrast  so  unpleas- 
ing.    But  an  item  of  this  sort  in  a  world  of  contradic- 

207 


THE    CHARLATANS 

tions  can  appeal  but  passingly  to  our  surprise  or 
curiosity. 

Into  the  pleasant  Maybury  environment  Miss  Win- 
ston slipped  on  Friday  afternoon,  and  she  and 
Enlightenment  had  a  long  talk  over  her  "career." 

"For  you  know,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Maybury, 
"you  were  destined  for  a  career,  just  as  I  was  not." 
She  sighed  for  the  thousand-and-first  time. 

Hope  gave  her  a  faithful  account  of  her  musical 
doings  to  date.  Some  of  the  details,  and  the  manner 
in  which  they  were  related,  amused  Mrs.  Maybury, 
who  plainly  had  no  exalted  opinion  of  the  Colossus. 

"I  am  sorry  you  might  not  have  had  private  instruc- 
tion," she  said.    "I  don't  believe  in  the  factory  label." 

Hope  mentioned  Professor  Geist  as  an  accepted  in- 
structional ideal. 

"Karl  Geist,"  replied  Mrs.  Maybury,  "is  practically 
a  private  teacher :  the  conservatory  simply  looks  after 
his  business ;  he  is  such  an  irresponsible  creature  that 
he  needs  a  business  guardian." 

The  "little  secret"  between  Doctor  Erdmann  and 
Miss  Winston  was  not  disclosed. 

"And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Maybury,  opening  the  grand 
piano,  "let  me  hear  what  progress  the  year  has 
brought." 

208 


A     YOUNG     GEN'TLEMAN     ADVISES 

Hope  played  at  length ;  and  though  Mrs.  Maybury 
was  a  kindlier  disposed  critic  than  Herr  Beckmesser 
in  the  opera,  she  wrinkled  her  brow  and  chalked  up 
more  than  one  mark  against  her  protegee. 

"But  you  have  done  wonderfully  well,"  she  said. 
"Technically  you  are  as  far  advanced  as  is  necessary 
for  the  present;  other  things  in  which  you  are  defi- 
cient require  attention.  One  thing  you  lack,  and 
which  you  can  not  acquire  too  early,  is  repose.  Then, 
there  are  a  thousand  and  one  little  things  you  must  be 
taught,  which  even  genius  can  not  wholly  anticipate. 
For  example,  in  Bach  the  mordent  is  accented  on  the 
first  note,  not  the  third,  as  you  do  it.  Suppose  you 
play  for  me  once  a  week.  My  criticism  may  perhaps 
aid  you." 

Hope  promised  gladly  and  gratefully,  not  deceived 
by  the  delicate  way  in  which  instruction  was  offered. 
Incidentally  she  promised  herself  to  disregard  a  few 
of  the  innumerable  methods  at  the  conservatory.  With 
Mrs.  Maybury  to  coach  her  piano  work  and  Karl 
Geist  to  teach  her  musical  theory,  she  felt  she  was  at 
last  in  the  way  of  rapid  progress. 

Shortly  after  six  o'clock  Mr.  Maybury  arrived — a 
large  man,  with  close-clipped  brown  beard  and  soft 
brown  eyes,  and  the  gentlest  manner  conceivable;  a 

209 


THE    CHARLATANS 

manner,  indeed,  which  had  deceived  more  than  one 
commercial  bucaneer  that  thought  to  board  an  inof- 
fensive merchantman.  "The  squarest  man  on  the 
Board  of  Trade,"  Bob  May  bury  was  withal  one  of  the 
most  daring  and  successful.  With  Maybury,  to  Miss 
Winston's  surprise,  came  Churchill  Gray.  Between 
the  two  men  existed  a  mutual  regard  founded  upon 
appreciation  of  traits  of  character  admired  by  each 
as  the  possession  of  the  other. 

The  dinner-hour  was  one  of  the  most  delightful 
our  Princess  ever  spent.  No  banquet  in  Court  of 
Faery  could  be  more  satisfactory  than  the  present  ap- 
peal to  the  material  senses ;  no  slave  of  the  lamp  was 
better  trained  than  Mrs.  Maybury's  white-capped 
maid-servant,  or  stepped  more  lightly,  or  fetched  and 
whisked  away  a  dish  with  half  her  grace.  As  for  the 
conversation,  no  comparisons  may  be  instituted,  as 
dinner-table  conversation  forms  no  feature  of  fairy 
tales.  The  talk  was  not  consciously  brilliant.  It 
ranged  leisurely  through  Russian  politics  and  liter- 
ature, the  comparative  attractiveness  of  Rome  and 
Florence  for  Americans  abroad,  the  Titian  newly 
loaned  to  the  Art  Museum,  and  other  subjects  which 
interested  Miss  Winston  profoundly,  and  on  which 
(despairingly  conscious  of  her  limits  as  a  conversa- 

210 


A     YOUNG     GEN'TLEMAN     ADVISES 

tionalist)  she  refrained  from  passing  an  opinion.  How 
much  there  was  to  know,  outside  of  music ! 

Karl  Geist  arrived  in  season  for  the  after-dinner 
coffee.  He  brought  his  violin,  and  at  sight  of  it  Hope 
was  reminded  of  Arthur  West's  remark:  "You  know 
Geist  never  takes  his  fiddle  with  him — simply  refuses." 
Evidently,  like  Mr.  Gray,  he  made  an  exception  of 
Mrs.  Maybury. 

The  little  company  repaired  to  the  music-room.  Fol- 
low them  in,  beloved  reader,  if  you  wish,  but  I  prom- 
ise you  dull  entertainment.  For  these  good  people, 
reasonable  enough  in  other  matters,  are  obsessed  by  the 
idea  that  Johannes  Brahms,  late  of  Vienna,  wrote  some 
of  the  most  beautiful  music  in  the  world;  rarely, 
chastely,  reservedly  beautiful  music ;  beautiful  in  line, 
and  mass,  and  color ;  music  that —  But  pshaw !  I  need 
not  remind  you  who  have  yawned  over  his  "Academic 
Overture"  and  slept  through  his  First  Symphony,  and 
who  may  have  estimated  his  life  work  by  those  two 
compositions, — I  need  not  remind  you  that  Johannes 
Brahms  was  a  dry,  pedantic  old  chap,  whose  pages 
are  as  destitute  of  melody  as  those  of  Euclid.  As 
once  was  asked  me  quaintly :  "Why  did  Brahms  write 
music  at  all.?  Why  was  he  not  an  astronomer.'^"  To 
which  Churchill  Gray,  or  some  other  amiable  Brahms- 

211 


THE    CHARLATANS 

ite  would  probably  make  answer,  that  whereas  Brahms 
the  astronomer  could  only  bring  the  stars  to  us, 
Brahms  the  music  master  takes  us  to  the  stars — or 
very  near  them. 

Pooh!  A  generation  hence  you  and  I  would  likely 
echo  this  extravagance ;  but,  as  it  happens,  we  are  liv- 
ing in  the  present,  in  the  best  of  company,  and  the 
music  of  the  present  is  quite  to  our  liking.  Pray,  my 
dear  Miss  Rubato,  let  us  have  a  Chopin  Nocturne,  pre- 
ferably the  one  in  E-flat — Opus  9, 1  think  it  is.  .  .  . 
Ah-h-h!  that  is  something  like  music.  Could  any- 
thing be  lovelier.?  How  ever  fresh  the  thought,  how 
deathless  the  melodic  beauty!  .  .  .  Thank  you, 
and  now,  if  you  are  quite  done  sobbing,  a  Liszt  Rhap- 
sody, if  you  please.  And  after 'that  a  Moszkowski 
cream-puff,  or  any  other  little  treasure  in  your  reper- 
tory. Dear,  dear!  I  don't  know  when  I  have  enjoyed 
a  more  profitable  evening. 

Before  we  turn  our  backs  upon  Mrs.  Maybury's 
music-room,  we  might  peep  in  at  the  ladies  and  gentle- 
men gathered  there ;  for  it  is  always  a  pleasure  to  see 
people  enjoying  themselves  in  a  seemly  manner, 
though  their  means  of  enjoyment  be  only  a  table  of 
logarithms. 

Mrs.  Maybury  is  at  the  piano,  Brahms'  G-major 
213 


A     YOUNG     GEN^TLEMAN     ADVISES 

Sonata  for  Piano  and  Violin  before  her,  and  Karl 
Geist  with  his  fiddle-bow  is  pointing  out  to  Miss  Wins- 
ton, who  is  looking  eagerly  over  Mrs.  May  bury 's 
shoulder,  some  of  the  fancied  wonders  of  the  second 
movement,  which  they  have  just  finished  playing,  and 
which  they  have  been  requested  to  repeat  by  Mr.  Gray, 
who,  stretched  on  a  divan,  in  the  dimmest  comer  of 
the  room,  is  smoking  a  cigarette  with  the  air  of  a  man 
whose  soul  is  steeped  in  contentment.  Mr.  Maybury, 
who  shares  this  peace  of  the  spirit,  is  smoking  a  cigar ; 
Professor  Geist  prefers  a  brier  pipe.  The  ladies  pre- 
tend to  enjoy  the  odor  of  burning  tobacco.  Dear  dis- 
semblers ! 

"I  feel  strangely  exalted,"  Hope  remarked  to  Gray. 
"My  feet  seem  scarcely  to  touch  the  earth.  That  isn't 
very  original,  I  know." 

They  were  walking  homeward  in  the  soft  November 
night,  lighted  by  the  moon. 

"I  share  your  exaltation  in  a  measure,"  said  Gray ; 
"though  I  confess  that  through  much  hearing  of  mu- 
sic my  heels  have  lost  their  wings.  I  don't  mean," — 
he  saw  her  smile,  and  anticipated  a  possible  comment 
— "I  don't  mean  that  I  listen  to  music  with  my  heels." 

"As  most  people  do." 

213 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Rather  let  us  say  that  to  most  people  rhythm 
makes  the  first  appeal." 

She  approved  the  euphemism,  and  they  walked  a 
square  in  silence,  Hope  thinking  of  that  other  night 
they  were  together,  when  she  left  him,  at  the  door  of 
her  lodgings,  with  her  heart  full  of  resentment.  How 
she  had  "hated"  him!  (The  quotation  marks  are  the 
present  writer's.)  What  tears  she  had  wept,  once 
free  of  his  cynical  presence,  vowing  she  should  never, 
never  forgive  his  thoughtless  sneer,  his  cruel  sar- 
casm! 

To-night  he  had  been  a  paragon  of  amiability. 
Whether  he  believed  it  or  not,  he  had  treated  her  as 
one  destined  for  great  things.  He  had  begged  her, 
during  a  lull  in  the  Brahms  tempest,  to  play  for  him, 
and  had  complimented  the  performance  with  a  simple 
sincerity  that  elated  her  beyond  measure.  He  had 
lent  sympathetic  approval  to  all  that  Mrs.  Maybury 
suggested  for  her  protegee.  No  one  could  be  more 
agreeable  than  Churchill  Gray,  it  seemed,  when  he  set 
himself  to  please.  Was  it  possible  that  sarcasm  or 
cynicism  could  ever  issue  from  a  mouth  so  tender  and 
winning.?  She  forgave  him  his  selfish  avowal  (doubt- 
less Flora  exaggerated  it)  that  the  price  he  paid  for 
what  he  got  from  feminine  society  was  too  high ;  one 

214 


A     YOUNG     GEISPTLEMAN     ADVISES 

who  spent  his  gold  so  prodigally  deserved  something 
substantial  in  return. 

They  discoursed  of  musicians  and  programmes, 
commenting  on  the  monotony  which  the  latter  exhibit 
year  on  year.  It  appeared  to  Hope  that  an  artist 
might  play  what  she  personally  Hked.  Gray  was  in- 
clined to  demur. 

"An  artist  struggling  for  recognition  can  not  af- 
ford to  carry  personal  prejudices  into  a  concert  hall. 
Take  our  friend  Victor  Mabbitt  for  an  example.  Mab- 
bitt  aspires  to  a  concert  career.  This  is  dependent  on 
a  thousand  and  one  lyceums  throughout  the  country, 
who  engage  only  persons  with  a  reputation  for  pleas- 
ing the  average  audience.  Hence  Mabbitt  plays  al- 
ways to  the  parquet." 

"But  Madame  Friedenthal.?" 

"Many  years  of  playing  to  the  parquet  has  done 
its  work  even  with  Madame  Friedenthal:  applause  is 
the  breath  of  life  to  her;  to  what  artist  is  it  not? 
Technic  has  become  the  god  of  her  idolatry.  Strange, 
is  it  not?  that  artists  should  forget  that  technic  is 
not  an  end  but  a  means." 

"This,  then,  is  what  I  have  to  look  forward  to, 
rashly  assuming  I  shall  become  an  artist." 

"As  you  are  to  be  an  artist,  you  must  compromise 
215 


THE    CHARLATANS 

between  your  conscience  and  the  demands  of  the  pub- 
lic.   Be  warned  in  time." 

"I  am.  Have  you  any  other  advice.''  I  shall  ac- 
cept it  gratefully." 

"I  might  add  this :  strive  always  for  the  good  opin- 
ion of  the  connoisseurs.  Theirs  is  the  only  opinion 
worth  the  while,  theirs  the  only  esteem  that  abides  to 
the  end." 

"Thank  you.    I  am  in  the  hands  of  my  friends." 

"If  I  might  presume     ..." 

"You  may." 

"You  are  likely  to  have  too  many  friends." 

Words  and  tone  surprised  her. 

"My  advice,  Miss  Winston, — ^unasked  in  this  in- 
stance,— is,  make  as  few  friends  as  possible.  Friends 
are  a  drain  upon  one's  time  and  energy ;  sacrifice  them 
to  your  art." 

"That  is  horribly  selfish." 

"Art  must  be  selfish." 

"Would  you  sacrifice  friends  who  have  helped  you  to 
rise?" 

"If  necessary." 

"You  make  no  exception  ?" 

**I  can  think  of  no  exception." 

"Is  that  not  dangerous  advice.?" 
216 


A     YOUNG     GElfTLEMAN     ADVISES 

"If  the  person  to  whom  it  is  given  be  not  a  genius — 
yes." 

"Why  the  distinction?" 

"Because  music  would  gain  nothing." 

"I  see." 

She  did  see,  and  clearly  enough.  He  was  thinking, 
not  of  her,  but  of  Art.  Her  he  regarded  impersonally, 
as  one  set  apart  by  destiny  for  the  further  glory  of 
Music.  If  their  relations  were  such  as  to  include  the 
idea  of  sacrifice,  he  would  sacrifice  even  her;  it  was 
conceivable  he  would  sacrifice  himself.  It  might  be 
heroic,  but  it  did  not  appeal  to  her ;  she  was  chilled. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  "I  shall  take  your  words 
to  heart." 

They  halted  before  No.  69  Atwood  Street. 

"I  did  not  see  you  at  the  last  Symphony  concert," 
said  Hope. 

"I  was  there." 

"Your  seats  must  be  on  the  right  side  of  the  house." 

"On  the  right  side  of  the  house?  Oh,  yes;  on  the 
right  side." 

Hope  did  not  see  his  smile,  occupied  in  opening  the 
house  door.     She  turned  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"Good  night.     I  shall  remember  all  your  good  ad- 


217 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"And  exercise  your  private  judgment  as  to  follow- 
ing it.   Good  night." 

The  door  closed  after  her,  and  Gray  turned  back 
to  his  own  lodgings,  a  dozen  squares  south,  in  a  resi- 
dence of  faded  gentility. 

Since  the  wreck  of  his  little  fortune,  through  the 
folly  of  young  Mathcson,  he  had  been  forced  to  exer- 
cise a  rigid  economy.  He  harbored  no  ill-will  toward 
Flora's  brother;  he  was  not  without  blame  himself, 
having  embarked  on  a  precarious  enterprise  with  his 
eyes  wide  open.  After  all,  it  was  no  vast  sum,  and 
his  tastes  were  not  extravagant.  Journalism  offered 
him  a  living  pending  a  rehabilitation  of  his  worldly 
estate. 

It  was  not  much  of  a  living,  to  be  sure ;  and  as  the 
circulation  of  the  Post  was  small,  he  had  to  spread 
himself  over  several  departments.  Fortunately,  he 
was  allowed  a  free  hand  as  musical  reviewer,  otherwise 
the  position  would  have  been  intolerable.  For  he  had 
no  patience  with  charlatanry,  insincerity,  or  the  super- 
ficial ;  the  spirit  of  compromise  was  not  in  his  nature. 

He  had  a  few  friends,  and  with  these  he  was  con- 
tent. He  might  have  widened  his  social  circle  indefi- 
nitely ;  but  as  he  took  his  critical  work  more  seriously 
than  his  publisher  or  his  readers  took  it,  he  thought 

218 


A     YOUNG     GENITLEMAN     ADVISES 

it  wise  to  make  as  few  friendships  as  possible.  He  had 
similarly  advised  Miss  Winston,  though  for  a  differ- 
ent reason.  He  knew  the  game  better  than  she,  and 
he  believed  that  she  was  in  a  fair  way  of  wasting  valu- 
able time  and  energy.  Ho  believed  all  he  had  said 
to  her.    And  yet     .     .     . 

He  lighted  the  lamp  in  his  severely-furnished  lodg- 
ings, and  filled  a  pipe. 

And  yet — had  he  been  altogether  disinterested  in 
advising  Miss  Winston  to  sacrifice  her  friends  to  her 
art.''  Had  he  been  influenced,  in  the  slightest  degree, 
by  the  marked  attention  which  Arthur  West  paid 
Miss  Winston.?  Was  he,  in  short,  more  interested  in 
her  as  a  woman  than  as  a  musician.?  The  thought 
troubled  him ;  he  really  could  not  answer  the  question. 

Of  course  he  was  not  in  love ;  when  one  is  in  love, 
one  is  definitely  aware  of  the  fact.  He  harked  back 
to  his  brief  affair  with  Flora  Matheson.  That  was  the 
nearest  he  had  come  to  being  in  love,  and  he  could  not 
recall  that  the  symptoms  then  were  more  pronounced 
than  at  present.  No ;  he  was  not  in  love ;  but  the  situ- 
ation was  dangerous.  Happily,  he  reflected,  he  had 
unwittingly  safeguarded  himself:  in  advising  Miss 
Winston,  inferentially,  to  eliminate  Arthur  West,  he 
had  eliminated  himself  as  well. 

219 


THE    CHARLATANS 

In  self-abnegation  lay  a  complete  security,  from 
which  he  might  contemplate,  unafraid,  certain  phe- 
nomena that  had  power  to  disturb  the  equilibrium  of 
his  senses ;  so  long  as  his  lips  were  sealed  he  was  pro- 
tected against  the  possibility  of  making  a  fool  of  him- 
self. 

The  present  hour,  vibrant  with  the  manifestations 
of  the  phenomena  alluded  to,  was  peculiarly  fitted  for 
dwelling  on  them  in  memory.  .  .  .  How  like  a 
young  poplar  was  her  slender  girlish  figure,  how  like 
a  woodland  river  her  voice!  What  fine  eyes  she  had, 
and  how  attractively  she  dressed  her  hair;  the  artist 
in  her  showed  in  many  ways.  Walking  homeward  with 
her  in  the  moonlight,  he  had  noted  that  her  side-face 
was  of  classic  purity. 

The  full  moon  still  rode  high.  Gray  extinguished 
his  light  and  opened  the  window,  by  which  he  sat  and 
smoked  until  long  past  midnight.  And  the  humorous 
upshot  of  his  meditations  was:  "My  words  were 
wasted.     She  is  incapable  of  sacrificing  even  a  fly." 

While  she,  w^akef  ul  in  the  moonlight,  too,  was  think- 
ing: "Fortunately  for  Mr.  Churchill  Gray,  he  is  in 
love  with  a  girl  who  would  not  sacrifice  him  for  all  the 
art  in  the  world." 

At  least  one  of  them  was  right. 
220 


CHAPTER     XVIII 


PENUMBRAS     OF      PROXIMATE     EVENTS 


As  the  eyes  of  the  present  writer  rest  on  a  well-worn 
copy  of  "With  Rack  and  Wheel,"  he  can  not  help 
thinking  what  a  very  different  sort  of  entertainment 
Mr.  Stanley  Arthur  Jones  would  have  dished  up  for 
the  good-natured  reader  of  Princess  Hope's  biogra- 

Suppose  (a  thing  impossible,  but  suppose)  Hope 
Winston  had  been  one  of  Mr.  Jones's  ethereal  heroines, 
instead  of  a  substantial  young  woman  from  the  prov- 
inces. What  an  exciting  life  she  would  have  led  in 
the  few  months  following  her  migration  southward! 
Instead  of  the  unromantic  environment  in  which  we 
have  seen  her,  and  the  sedate  adventures  that  fell  to 

221 


THE    CHARLATANS 

her  lot,  she  would  have  passed  before  us  on  a  highly- 
colored  panorama  of  palaces  and  gardens,  inns  and 
stage-coaches,  lonely  highways  and  deserted  chateaux ; 
instead  of  the  decorous  music  of  strings  and  wood- 
wind, her  progress  would  have  been  accompanied  by 
the  stirring  music  of  crossed  rapiers,  popping  mus- 
kets, jingling  spurs  and  thudding  hoofs.  Men  would 
have  sighed  for  her,  died  for  her ;  perhaps  an  empire 
or  two  would  have  tottered — who  knows? — empires 
have  tottered  on  as  little  provocation,  in  the  brave 
pages  of  romance. 

To  match  this,  what  have  we  had?  The  good- 
natured  reader  knows.  So,  premising  his  consent, 
which  it  Is  impossible  he  should  refuse,  I  shall  pass 
lightly  over  some  five  months  of  my  heroine's  history, 
briefly  indicating  such  incidents  and  associations  as 
exerted  a  formative  influence  on  her  swiftly-shaping 
character. 

Well,  then,  to  begin  with,  she  completely  disre- 
garded Churchill  Gray's  advice  concerning  friends, 
and  instead  of  making  as  few  as  possible,  made  as 
many ;  or  perhaps  it  would  be  more  just  to  the  young 
lady  to  say  that  she  made  no  effort  to  avoid  the  many 
pleasant  folk  who  came  her  way.  Whether  she  would 
have  acted  wisely  in  pursuing  the  opposite  course  I 

222 


PENUMBRA'S     OF     EVENTS 

decline  to  say;  whether  she  was  incapable,  as  Gray 
surmised,  of  sacrificing  on  Music's  altar  even  a  blue- 
bottle fly,  remains  to  be  seen.  At  present  I  note  that 
for  some  five  months  she  lived  a  most  agreeable  exist- 
ence, and  was  referred  to  in  this  or  that  music  lover's 
drawing-room  as  the  beautiful  Miss  Winston,  the  tal- 
ented Miss  Winston,  the  charming  and  popular  Miss 
Winston,  and  (I  am  happy  to  add)  the  modest  and  re- 
served Miss  Winston. 

When  a  young  person  possessing  quick  wits,  humor, 
and  the  artistic  temperament  is  suddenly  released  from 
the  bonds  (however  tender)  of  a  commonplace  con- 
sanguinity, and  precipitated  by  chance  into  the  so- 
ciety of  men  and  women  who  live  a  strenuous  life  of 
culture,  it  is  not  remarkable  that  she  should  feel  an 
exaggerated  pleasure  in  their  company,  and  think 
each  goose  a  swan ;  nor  that  she  should  lack  perspec- 
tive and  that  nice  perception  of  values  which  flowers 
no  faster  than  ourselves.  Brought  unpreparedly  in 
contact  with  that  for  which  one's  secret  soul  has  hun- 
gered, there  seems  no  limit  to  our  appetency  and  our 
capacity  for  assimilation.  We  take  in  good  and  bad 
alike,  never  doubtful  of  the  one,  never  certain  of  the 
other:  Time,  the  great  winnower,  will  attend  to  that. 
So  while  Hope  gathered  a  great  quantity  of  chaff, 

223 


THE    CHARLATANS 

some  grain  was  gathered,  too,  which  Is  as  much  as 
the  most  of  us  can  say. 

She  did  not  neglect  her  music.  To  that  she  gave 
each  forenoon  and  a  share  of  each  afternoon;  and 
such  was  her  progress,  it  is  enough  to  note  that  even 
Impatient  self  was  satisfied.  She  attended  every  con- 
cert holding  promise  of  enlightenment,  and  still  had 
time  to  play  at  butterfly ;  and  while  it  is  possible  that 
the  hours  given  to  social  pleasure  might  better  have 
gone  to  the  reading  of  profitable  books,  her  conscience 
was  untroubled,  as  nineteen's  conscience  ought  to  be. 

A  pupil  of  Karl  Geist,  it  was  impossible  not  to  make 
progress.  Hope  did  not  know  how  much  time  and 
sympathy  he  gave  to  other  students ;  in  her  own  case 
the  value  of  his  services  was  out  of  all  proportion  to 
his  tuition  fee.  He  instructed  her  in  theory — not  by 
book,  but  in  a  way  peculiarly  his  own;  in  addition 
(and  this  was  not  nominated  in  the  bond),  he  coached 
her  piano  playing,  criticizing  it  phrase  by  phrase ;  he 
taught  her  little  "tricks"  of  artistry,  the  thousand 
and  one  small  things  which,  as  Mrs.  Maybury  said, 
even  genius  could  not  wholly  anticipate;  he  played 
duets  with  her;  he  informed  and  stimulated  her  in 
other  ways. 

The  old-fashioned  idea,  he  told  her,  was  to  practise 
224 


PENUMBRAS     OF     EVENTS 

five  hours;  the  new  idea  is  to  practise  one  hour  and 
think  five  times  as  hard.  He  showed  her  how,  in  tak- 
ing up  a  new  composition  for  study,  to  strip  it  of  its 
details,  and  f amiharize  herself  first  with  the  harmonic 
skeleton;  how  to  seek  in  each  phrase  the  one  indis- 
pensable note,  without  which  the  phrase  is  meaning- 
less ;  how,  by  holding  the  pedal  through  a  tone  mass, 
to  give  to  it  a  significance  lacking  in  a  clearer-cut  pre- 
sentment. 

He  would  play  on  his  violin  a  page  or  so,  bidding 
her  note  the  variety  given  to  the  melody;  she  must 
never  play  a  phrase  twice  alike,  never  exactly  repro- 
duce an  effect,  however  felicitous.  It  was  an  excellent 
idea,  he  said,  always  to  keep  in  mind  how  a  violinist 
would  present  the  melody.  Her  "hour"  in  his  studio 
frequently  extended  to  two. 

Since  she  aspired  to  play  Brahms,  he  frankly  sug- 
gested that  she  disregard  the  methods  of  the  Colossus, 
and  he  indicated  in  detail  the  technic  required  to  the 
performance  of  Brahms,  who  was  first  of  all  a  poet. 
He  advised  her,  above  all,  to  devote  herself  unflag- 
gingly  to  Bach. 

"Bach,"  he  said,  "is  the  music  of  the  future;  he 
is  the  one  immortal."  Snatching  up  his  violin,  he 
played  a  few  measures,  and  cried:     "Is  there  any- 

225 


THE    CHARLATANS 

thing  written  to-day  more  modern  ?  Is  there  anything 
to  outHve  that  passage?" 

Karl  Geist,  as  had  been  said  of  him,  was  not  a  mu- 
sician— he  was  music.  Though  less  than  forty,  there 
seemed  nothing  in  music  he  did  not  comprehend,  and 
nothing  good  in  it  he  did  not  enjoy ;  he  had  no  preju- 
dices. Among  musicians  the  country  over  he  was 
known  and  respected ;  the  public  heard  little  of  him. 

Mrs.  Maybury,  also,  instructed  and  encouraged  the 
neophyte,  but  neither  she  nor  Geist  flattered  her,  nor 
expressed  a  positive  belief  in  her  ultimate  triumph. 
"That  was  pretty  well  done,"  Mrs.  Maybury  would  re- 
mark, at  the  conclusion  of  a  bit  of  Bach;  or,  "You 
are  coming  along,"  Geist  would  say;  and  even  this 
small  praise  was  not  often  forthcoming.  Never  certain 
of  her  own  genius,  she  doubted  more  often  than  she 
believed.  The  playing  of  third-rate  pianists  filled  her 
with  despair;  should  she  ever  be  able  to  equal  their 
dazzling  performances  ?  What  if,  after  all,  she  failed 
of  greatness!  She  never  let  her  mind  dwell  long  on 
this  maddening  possibility. 

Aside  from  the  musical  progress  of  our  Princess, 
perhaps  the  most  significant  episode  in  the  few  months 
we  are  passing  over  was  the  assiduous  court  paid  to 
her  by  Arthur  West.     It  is  only  fair  to  the  young 

226 


PENUMBRAS     OF     EVENTS 

gentleman  to  say  that  toward  this,  his  first  serious 
affair  of  the  heart,  he  discovered  an  enthusiasm  fully 
equal  to  that  in  which  he  took  up  his  newest  vocal 
method ;  and  this  was  enthusiasm's  ultimate  word.  No 
possible  exception  could  be  taken  to  the  manner  of  his 
wooing.  It  assumed  the  form  of  a  fluid  friendship,  in 
which  swam  the  molecules  of  a  tenderer  sentiment,  re- 
quiring for  their  crystallizing  only  the  magic  touch 
of  Circumstance.  The  neglect  of  Circumstance  to 
stretch  forth  a  cooperating  hand  must  seem  suspicious, 
when  we  consider  that  the  young  people  were  much  in 
each  other's  company.  Was  Miss  Winston  aware  of 
the  young  man's  precarious  footing  on  the  precipice's 
brow.?  I  think  likely.  Did  she  enjoy  watching  his 
exercises  in  equilibrium.?  I  think  unlikely.  I  fancy 
she  was  uneasy  for  him,  as  you  or  I  would  be  for  some 
foolish  person  walking  a  tight-rope  over  Niagara. 
Arthur  lost  his  balance  just  once:  he  mentioned  some- 
thing about  a  temperamental  affinity.  (You  are  re- 
quested not  to  smile  at  this;  the  young  lady  re- 
frained. )  Hope  met  the  suggestion  with  an  inquiry  as 
to  Arthur's  latest  vocal  method,  and  learned,  as  she 
was  prepared  to,  that  the  latest  was  the  ideal. 

"We  know,"  explained  Arthur,  "that  the  tone  is 
produced  by  the  tension  of  the  vocal  cords.    As  these 

227 


THE    CHARLATANS 

cords  are  small,  we  should  give  them  all  the  assist- 
ance possible;  so  while  singing,  the  whole  body  must 
be  tense,  that  all  the  strain  may  not  come  on  the  vocal 
cords — or  something  of  that  sort." 

"The  very  method  for  the  statue  music  in  'Don 
Juan',"  remarked  Hope ;  and  in  the  amusement  which 
this  and  kindred  suggestions  evoked,  the  dangerous 
point  of  temperamental  affinity  was  skirted. 

Over  Hope's  piano  now  hung  the  picture  of  Brahms 
that  had  long  stood  in  the  art  shop  window — a  Christ- 
mas gift,  a  genuine  surprise  evoking  an  exclamation 
of  delight.  No  card  or  penciled  name  of  donor  was 
inclosed:  the  picture  was  the  gift  of  the  same  good 
fairy  who  supplied  concert  tickets.  These  had  come 
in  abundance;  not  only  tickets  for  the  Symphony 
concerts,  but  for  other  concerts  of  significance,  and 
for  art  exhibitions  and  lectures.  Sometimes  they  were 
stamped  "Complimentary" ;  sometimes  there  was  one, 
sometimes  two,  on  which  occasions  Madame  Jesurin 
was  invited  to  go  along.  When  there  were  two  tickets 
they  always  called  for  the  parquet  seats  J  89  and  90 ; 
and  it  was  a  curious  circumstance  that  when  only  one 
ticket  was  sent,  J  89  was  never  occupied.  This  seat 
must  be  sold,  for  there  were  concerts  when  every  other 
chair  on  the  lower  floor  was  occupied. 

228 


PENUMBRAS     OF     EVENTS 

The  most  plausible  theory  was  that  J  89  belonged 
to  the  good  fairy,  who  wished  to  preserve  his  bounty 
a  secret;  and  what  doubt  Hope  might  have  had  con- 
cerning the  identity  of  the  good  fairy  was  dispelled 
one  night,  when  she  observed  Doctor  Erdmann  in  the 
line  of  standers  behind  the  parquet  rail.  She  did  not 
pause,  at  the  time,  to  reflect  that  even  so  disinterest- 
edly benevolent  a  gentleman  as  Doctor  Rudolf  Erd- 
mann would  hardly  stand  through  a  season's  concerts 
in  order  to  hide  his  kindlj^  light  under  a  bushel;  she 
was  impelled  toward  him  with  words  of  gratitude  on 
her  lips.  He  saw  her  approaching,  bowed  formally, 
and,  turning  abruptly,  engaged  a  gentleman  at  his 
side  in  conversation.     The  light  remained  busheled. 

Curled  up  in  her  easy-chair,  an  April  morning, 
Hope's  eyes  wandered  from  the  vaseful  of  royal  roses 
(the  gift  of  her  discreet  adorer)  to  the  picture  of 
Brahms,  and  her  thoughts  flew  to  Churchill  Gray,  as 
more  than  once  they  had  similarly  flown.  Poor  Mr. 
Gray !  Did  he  miss  the  picture  and  wonder  what  had 
become  of  it?  For  some  months  she  had  seen  very  lit- 
tle of  Gray.  One  or  two  occasions  promised  a  con- 
versation, but  he  seemed  purposely  to  decline  it.  Was 
he  displeased  with  her  because  she  did  not  turn  ascetic, 
immure  herself  in  her  hermitage,  and  flog  her  piano 

229 


THE    CHARLATANS 

mercilessly?  All  work  and  no  play  makes  Jill  as  dull 
as  Jack.  As  long  as  she  did  not  slight  her  music, 
what  possible  harm  in  playing  butterfly  out  of  study 
hours?  what  possible  good  in  "sacrificing"  agreeable 
friends,  who  perhaps  were  not  so  intellectual  as  the 
critic  to  the  Post,  and  did  not  take  music  quite  so  seri- 
ously ? 

She  acknowledged  having  rather  overdone  of  late 
the  role  of  butterfly.  She  had  been  out  every  night  for 
a  week  back,  to  opera,  musicale  and  play ;  in  each  in- 
stance until  a  late  hour,  as  supper  always  followed 
the  entertainment.  Last  evening,  in  company  with 
Flora  Matheson,  Mr.  Jones  and  Arthur,  she  had 
gone  "slumming,"  occupying  a  box  in  a  cheap  the- 
ater famous  for  its  melodrama  "thrillers."  Toward 
the  close  of  the  performance  the  theater  caught  fire, 
and  the  box-party  executed  a  hurried  exit  via  Stage- 
land.  As  if  this  were  not  sufficient  excitement  for 
one  evening,  they  visited  a  Chinese  restaurant,  and 
supped  on  a  queer  assortment  of  Eastern  dishes ;  and 
to-day  Miss  Winston  was  entertaining  her  first  head- 
ache.   Was  it  the  excitement — or  the  "gamgott"  ? 

Atop  all  this,  Mrs.  Addison  West  had  planned  for 
her  dear  young  friends,  the  Misses  Matheson  and 
Winston,  another  strenuous  afternoon  and  evening. 

2S0 


PENUMBRA>«     OF     EVENTS 

This  included  looking  in  on  the  Pekoe  Club,  dining 
at  a  smart  cafe,  and  attending  Madame  Friedenthal's 
annual  recital. 

"Do  butterflies  ever  have  headaches?"  wondered 
Hope,  pressing  her  hands  against  her  temples. 

She  glanced  languidly  about  her  lodgings.  They 
did  not  seem  so  agreeable  as  when  first  her  eyes  rested 
on  them.  How  out  of  place  Arthur's  roses  looked !  If 
flowers  have  souls,  these  proud  beauties  must  have  felt 
deeply  humiliated.  How  tawdry  the  room's  furnish- 
ings in  the  white  light  of  day!  And  what  a  smelly 
house! — almost  every  day  the  ghosts  of  the  boiled 
cabbages  welcomed  another  of  the  spookish  brethren. 
She  felt  sure  they  distressed  Arthur,  who,  on  German 
or  French  night,  took  tea  with  her  and  Madame  Jesu- 
rin,  sometimes  in  one  apartment,  sometimes  in  the 
other.  And  last  week,  when  Doctor  Erdmann  called 
(yes;  the  president  of  the  Colossus  actually  paid  her 
that  honor.  He  was — er — passing  through  that  part 
of  town) — on  that  occasion  the  spectral  cabbages  held 
a  rout,  frisking  about  the  hall  and  chasing  one  an- 
other through  cracks  and  key -holes,  so  that  there  was 
no  blinking  their  unpleasant  proximity.  She  felt  no 
shame  of  her  narrow  means ;  but  she  wondered  whether 
one  might  not  live  economically  in  rooms  to  which  one 

231 


THE    CHARLATANS 

might  invite  one's  female  friends,  and  not  feel  impelled 
to  throw  open  the  windows. 

How  tinny  her  piano  had  grown — or  was  it  always 
so  strident- voiced  ?  Doctor  Erdmann  had  remarked 
the  piano.  He  sat  to  it  and  struck  a  few  chords,  and 
said:  "You  should  have  a  better  instrument,  Miss 
Winston."  Her  reply :  "It  does  well  enough  to  prac- 
tise on."  His  amiable  protest :  "No  piano  is  too  good 
for  you  to  practise  on."  The  incident  closed  with  his 
offer  to  place  a  "Colossus"  piano  at  her  service  when- 
ever she  was  minded  to  request  it. 

And  what  a  bore  Madame  Jesurin  had  become,  with 
her  frequent  references  to  her  departed  spouse  (who 
must  have  been  a  miracle  of  patience)  ;  her  chronic 
habit  of  borrowing  a  cup  of  sugar,  or  tea,  or  some- 
thing else,  and  neglecting  to  return  it;  her  raptures 
upon  everything  under  heaven,  from  currant  buns  to 
Wagner ;  her  pretenses  to  culture,  exposed  by  the  most 
ludicrous  "breaks."  Decidedly,  a  change  of  base  would 
not  be  unwelcome. 

At  this  critical  juncture  Madame  Jesurin  drifted  in 
with  a  request  for  the  temporary  loan  of  an  egg. 
Driven  to  resolution,  Hope  snatched  up  her  hat  and 
set  out  for  the  conservatory,  finally  to  accept  the  prof- 
fered services  of  Doctor  Erdmann  in  selecting  a  de- 

2S2 


PENUMBRA^    OF     EVENTS 

sirable  boarding-place.  As  she  left  the  house  she  met 
Mrs.  Grady,  returning  from  some  errand  of  benevo- 
lence, and  the  good-hearted  soul  glanced  at  her  so 
fondly  that  she  hesitated. 

If,  as  Monsieur  Maeterlinck  tells  us,  Instinct  and 
Destiny  are  for  ever  conferring  together,  the  fateful 
pair  must  have  exchanged  a  smile  when  Hope,  con- 
quering hesitation,  went  on  to  the  conservatory.  Yet, 
as  she  drew  near  to  it  resolution  sickened,  and  positive 
misgiving  seized  her  when  she  boarded  the  elevator. 
She  would  have  welcomed  any  interruption  of  her  pur- 
pose, however  trivial. 

"Third,"  she  said,  as  the  elevator  man  closed  the 
gate  behind  his  passengers. 

"This  is  express,"  he  replied,  rather  less  surlily 
than  usual. 

"Let  me  out  then,  please,"  she  requested  hastily, 
with  a  little  sigh  of  relief. 

Instead,  the  man  shot  the  car  to  the  third  floor,  and 
threw  the  gate  open  graciously. 

As  Hope  advanced  toward  Doctor  Erdmann's  office, 
Rhoda  Weathers  left  a  descending  car  and  followed 
her.    They  halted,  face  to  face,  at  the  door. 

Rhoda,  pale  of  face,  tense,  laid  a  hand  challeng- 
ingly  on  the  door-knob,  and  Hope,  her  eyes  drawn  to 

233 


THE    CHARLATANS 

the  hand  by  the  movement,  had  her  third  glimpse  of 
the  cabochon  emerald  ring,  now  on  Rhoda's  finger. 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  for  a  breath- 
less moment  two  souls  questioned  each  other;  the  one 
gently,  wonderingly,  the  other  clamantly,  hostilely. 

Mystified,  hurt,  and  lacking  words  to  break  the 
awkward  silence,  Hope  drooped  her  head  and  turned 
away. 

Her  impulse  checked  by  circumstance,  she  was  satis- 
fied to  defer  her  interview  with  Doctor  Erdmann.  As 
she  went  slowly  down  the  stairs  she  reviewed  her  rela- 
tions with  Rhoda  Weathers  for  some  explanation  of 
the  latter's  attitude  toward  her  in  recent  weeks, — an 
attitude  that  had  passed  from  indifference  to  coolness, 
from  coolness  to  unveiled  hostility.  Only  one  ex- 
planation suggested  itself. 

Miss  Weathers  had  long  enjoyed  the  distinction  of 
being  Professor  Geist's  favorite  pupil,  and  rumor 
(with  the  tongue  of  Arthur  West)  reported  that  he 
was  interested  in  her  in  more  ways  than  one.  Was 
Rhoda  jealous  of  Miss  Winston's  popularity  with  the 
teacher?   How  absurd! 

It  would  be  of  no  use  to  question  Miss  Matheson: 
Flora  did  not  pretend  to  understand  Rhoda.  They 
possessed  nothing  in  common  except  the  fact  that  they 

2S4 


PENUMBRAS  OF     EVENTS 

had  been  college  mates  at  Smith,  and  came  from  the 
same  city. 

It  is  human  nature  to  desire  the  good  opinion  of 
one's  acquaintances.  To  be  misunderstood  by  the  least 
of  these  is  pain.  Hope  returned  to  Atwood  Street 
wounded  in  spirit  and  perturbed  by  vague  forebodings 
of  distress  to  come. 


235 


CHAPTER  XIX 


IN   WHICH   OUR   PRINCESS   TURNS 
OVER   A   NEW   LEAP 

As  president  of  the  Social  Dynamics  Club  and  as 
composer  of  innumerable  songs,  Mrs.  Addison  West 
was  naturally  an  honored  member  of  the  Pekpe  Club, 
to  which  (it  being  her  week  to  prgvide  the  light  re- 
freshments) she  brought  a  colored  maid,  the  refresh- 
ments aforesaid  and  her  dear  young  friends,  the  Misses 
Matheson  and  Winston. 

As  we  shall  tarry  at  the  Pekoe  Club  less  than  an 
hour,  a  brief  reference  to  its  purpose  and  constituency 
will  suffice. 

The  Pekoe  Club  was  made  up  of  clever  people  who 
expressed  their  souls  in  painting,  music,  architecture, 
literature  and  journalism,  or  other  intellectual  voca- 

236 


A     NEW    LEAF 

tion.  Eligibility  to  membership  implied  having  "done 
something"  in  one's  chosen  calling;  a  net  through 
which  sifted,  with  equal  facility,  Ernest  Penwell,  the 
distinguished  novelist,  and  Atchison  S.  Fay,  the  dis- 
tinguished passenger  agent ;  Madame  Friedenthal,  the 
famous  pianist,  and  "old  lady  Keith,"  the  famous 
dowager. 

The  Pekoe  had  no  board  of  management,  or  by- 
laws, or  even  club-room  of  its  own.  Its  members  gath- 
ered weekly,  for  mutual  appreciation  and  a  cup  of 
tea,  in  the  studio  of  Raphael  Free,  on  the  skylight 
"octave"  of  the  Beaux  Arts  Temple.  Should  you  ob- 
ject that  Pekoe  is  a  frivolous  name  for  such  a  league 
of  intellect,  I  reply  with  Charter  Member  Penwell,  who 
suggested  the  name,  that  the  light  fantastic  title  of 
the  club  served  to  accentuate  its  underlying  serious- 
ness of  purpose  (which  was  well  understood  by  the 
members),  besides  piquing  the  curiosity  of  Philistia. 

"If,"  remarked  Penwell  quaintly,  "Pliilistia  ask  you, 
'What  is  the  purpose  of  the  Pekoe  Club.?'  you  an- 
swer, *To  brew  an  urn — a  Grecian  um^ — of  tea :  that 
is  all  ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know.'  Be- 
sides, the  leaves  of  Pekoe  give  tone  and  perfume  to 
the  commonest  of  teas ;  I  forbear  the  simile." 

At  four  o'clock  the  studio  of  Raphael  Free  was  pre- 
237 


THE    CHARLATANS 

pared  to  receive  the  brotherhood.  Not  a  brush,  or 
palette,  or  other  artist  tool  was  visible ;  there  was  none 
of  that  Bohemian  disorder  which  some  persons  affect 
to  admire.  Mrs.  West's  party  was  among  the  first  to 
arrive,  as  Flora  was  to  pour ;  and  the  girls  had  oppor- 
tunity to  charge  themselves  with  the  atmosphere  of 
the  studio,  and  to  admire  its  really  artistic  decorations, 
prior  to  the  influx  of  the  Pekoe  brethren. 

Early  in  the  hour  Hope  found  herself  seated  under 
an  excellent  copy  of  a  Frans  Hals  portrait,  in  con- 
versation with  Ernest  Penwell,  whose  "works"  (she 
had  read  one  of  them)  she  greatly  admired.  Penwell 
told  her  the  names  of  the  club  members,  and  answered 
all  her  questions  with  engaging  frankness. 

Yes;  it  was  true  that,  to  become  a  Pekoite,  one 
must  "do  something"  to  distinguish  one  from  the 
hurrying  crowd  in  the  street  below. 

"For  example:  that  romantic-looking  young  man 
with  the  brown  mustache,  leaning  over  Miss  Mathe- 
son's  chair.     .     .     ." 

"Oh,  I  know  Mr.  Jones,"  said  Hope.  "Tell  me,  who 
is  the  lady  in  the  green  and  red  portiere?" 

"The  Marquise  de  Creme,  who  conducts  the  Posfs 
cosmetic  column.  She  gets  all  her  gowns  at  the  up- 
holsterer's." 

238 


A   ne1v   leaf 

"And  the  lady  in  the  pink  hat  and  purple  waist? 
She  just  gave  me  a  look  which  said  plainly:  *What 
business  have  you  here?  Pray,  what  have  you  done?'  " 

"The  pink  hat?  Oh!"  He  mentioned  the  name, 
adding :  "  *That  singular  anomaly,  the  lady  novelist,' 
who  is  anything  but  an  anomaly  these  days." 

"And  that  serious-faced  girl  with  whom  she  is  talk- 
ing?" 

"Has  published  two  books,  and  is  hard  at  work  on 
a  third.  She  rarely  takes  a  holiday  of  this  sort ;  she 
says  she  can  not  spare  the  time  from  her  literary 
work." 

"Why,  she  can't  be  more  than  twenty !"  Hope  ex- 
claimed, 

"Eighteen,  I  believe.  Such  industry !  Such  serious- 
ness! Oh  dear!"  Penwell  fetched  a  sigh  from  ironic 
depths. 

"I  feel  myself  dwindling,"  said  Hope,  "like  Alice 
when  she  drank  from  the  magic  bottle." 

"Gracious !  let  me  get  you  the  counteracting  cake — 
and  a  cup  of  tea !"    Penwell  danced  away. 

Two  ladies  halted  before  Hope,  to  admire  the  Frans 
Hals  over  her  head.  Remarked  one  of  the  pair:  "I 
think  that  is  Mr.  Pree's  most  original  canvas,  don't 
you?"  Was  it  irony?    Probably  not. 

239 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Hope  was  observing  the  pale  face  of  the  strenuous 
3^oung  novelist,  who  could  no  more  spare  time  to  play 
than  Atlas  could,  and  musing:  ''She  has  done  some- 
thing. She  does  not  play  the  butterfly.  She  earns 
her  headaches."  Hope  passed  a  hand  wearily  across 
her  forehead. 

Suddenly  she  became  conscious  that  Churchill  Gray 
was  fixedly  regarding  her.  He  had  been  talking  with 
a  musical  lion  from  Boston,  whom  a  lady  member  of 
the  club  was  proudly  displaying.  The  lion  being  led 
away,  to  roar  in  another  comer.  Gray  made  as  if  to 
join  Miss  Winston;  but  Pen  well  returned  at  the  mo- 
ment with  the  tea  and  cake,  and  Gray  joined  the  little 
group  that  circled  the  Goddess  of  the  Urn.  Flora 
was  a  great  favorite  at  pouring  parties. 

Hope's  eyes  followed  him,  and  she  thought :  "What 
a  springy,  graceful  walk!  What  a  serious,  beautiful 
face!  Mr.  Jones  appears  insipid  beside  him.  How 
can  Flora  flirt  so  with  that  coxcomb !" 

A  question  from  Penwell  reminded  her  of  that  gen- 
tleman's existence. 

"Madame  Friedenthal?"  she  murmured.  "Oh,  yes; 
I  expect  to  hear  her  to-night.  I  understand  she  is  a 
Pekoite — or  should  it  be  Pekonian.^^  Do  you  see  her 
here  often.?" 

240 


A     NE^     LEAF 

"Very  rarely,"  said  Penwell.  "She  Is  another  of 
tliose  who  can  not  spare  time  from  their  work.  At 
this  moment  she  is  probably  in  bed,  resting  against 
the  task  of  the  night." 

"And  what  a  pleasant  task !" 

"One  would  think  so.  Yet  I  have  her  private  word 
for  it  that  she  gets  no  pleasure  from  her  music.  She 
is  always  working,  always  thinking;  hour  on  hour 
striving  to  produce  this  and  that  elusive  effect.  It  is 
pathetic." 

"You  don't  mean  that."- 

"Well,  then,  I  don't,"  he  replied  amiably.  "No; 
there  is  only  one  path  to  Parnassus,  and  there  are  no 
tea-gardens  along  the  way.  Beware !"  he  added  with 
exaggerated  gravity. 

"I  will!"  said  Hope,  and  the  note  of  sudden  de- 
cision in  her  voice  brought  a  quick  glance  from  Pen- 
well,  who  was  hardly  expected  to  guess  that  his  lightly- 
spoken  word  had  produced  an  effect  where  the  earnest 
adjuration  of  Churchill  Gray  had  failed. 

But  then,  five  months  had  passed,  and  the  young 
lady  had  a  headache. 

After  a  leisurely  dinner,  Mrs.  Addison  West  and 
her  dear  young  friends,  accompanied  by  the  junior 

241 


THE    CHARLATANS 

West  and  Mr.  Jones,  proceeded  to  Apollo  Hall,  in 
which  a  great  crowd  was  gathering. 

"Fuzzj-looking  lot,  aren't  thej?"  Arthur  remarked 
to  Hope. 

"A  lot  of  interesting  faces,"  she  replied.  "I  feel 
like  asking  this  one  and  that:  'Well,  what  do  you 
play.?»" 

"All  the  scramblers  are  here  to-night  with  their 
Beethoven  books  and  pencils,"  said  Arthur.  "They'll 
all  play  like  Friedenthal  to-morrow." 

He  nodded  to  the  Jesurin,  across  the  aisle.  Madame 
had  come  on  the  good  fairy's  ticket,  which  Hope  had 
no  use  for. 

The  hall's  seating  capacity  was  soon  exhausted, 
and  chairs  were  placed  on  the  stage,  until  there  re- 
mained only  a  small  clearing  for  the  piano  and  a  lane 
for  the  pianist. 

"What  a  wonderful  gift,  the  power  to  draw  all  these 
people!"  said  Hope.  "How  smiling  and  happy  Ma- 
dame Friedenthal  must  be  at  this  moment,  if  she  is 
peeping  through  that  door." 

"Don't  you  believe  it,"  said  Arthur.  "She  is  keep- 
ing away  from  that  door,  and  fidgeting  around  as 
nervous  as  ten  witches.  It's  an  awful  strain,  the  hour 
before  a  concert,  she  tells  me." 

242 


A     N  E^     LEAF 

"You  know  Madame  Friedenthal  personally  ?"  Hope 
was  interested. 

"Oh,  yes."  He  acknowledged  the  privilege  in  a  mat- 
ter-of-fact way. 

*'Is  she  interesting?    Of  course  she  is." 

"Well," — Arthur  pursed  his  lips  and  wrinkled  his 
brow, — "with  one  brilliant  exception,  I  can't  say  I 
really  enjoy  the  society  of  musical  geniuses." 

"Oh,  every  one  enjoys  Karl  Geist's  society,"  she 
smiled. 

Arthur  acknowledged  the  parry  with  a  grimace. 
"Would  you  like  to  meet  Madame  Friedenthal.?" 

"I  can  not  tell  you  how  much." 

"We'll  go  behind  after  the  concert.  You  won't  have 
a  chance  to  say  any  more  than  'I  enjoyed  your  play- 
ing so  much.'  It's  a  regular  bargain-counter  rush, 
and  usually  there  are  fifteen  or  twenty  relations  all 
trying  to  kiss  her  at  once.  But  maybe  you'll  be  able 
to  squeeze  in  a  hand-shake.  Eil  Eir  he  cried  mock- 
ingly, "there's  Church  Gray  beside  Madame  Jesurin. 
I  love  Beethoven.  Don't  you,  Miss  Winston .?" 

Hope  hid  a  convulsed  face  in  her  programme. 

"I  perfectly  adore  Brahms!"  the  irreverent  youth 
pursued.  "Brahms  is  so  deep,  so  intellectual !  What 
luck  some  people  have  in  drawing  seats." 

243 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Madame  Jesurin,  for  example,"  said  Hope,  who 
was  thinking  that  but  for  Mrs.  West's  Httle  party  she 
might  be  sitting  beside  Churchill  Gray,  in  place  of 
Madame. 

Arthur's  reply  was  smothered  in  a  burst  of  ap- 
plause. Madame  Friedenthal  had  entered  and  was 
tripping  down  the  lane. 

The  programme  made  no  great  demand  on  the  in- 
telligence of  the  audience.  It  comprised  a  Beethoven 
Sonata ;  "Funeral  March,"  Chopin  (by  request)  ; 
Valse,  Chopin;  Etude,  Moszkowski  (by  request); 
Etudes-Symphoniques,  Schumann;  "A  la  Bien- 
Aimee,"  Schiitt  (by  request) ;  Etude,  Henselt  (by 
request) ;  Gavotte  and  Musette,  D' Albert  (by  re- 
quest) ;  and  a  Liszt  Polonaise,  which  no  one  had 
thought  to  request. 

An  ideal  programme,  which  you,  my  dear  Miss  Ru- 
bato,  who  aim  to  please,  would  do  well  to  study.  Al- 
ways begin  with  Bach  and  Beethoven,  to  which  every- 
body will  hsten  politely,  and  conclude  with  Liszt,  to 
which  everybody  will  listen  delightedly;  Chopin  and 
Schumann  group  in  the  middle,  an  'owski  or  two  on 
each  side,  and  you  are  "all  set,"  as  the  printers  say. 

While  Madame  Friedenthal  played  the  Beethoven 
Sonata,  Hope  gave  her  mind  so  completely  to  the  mu- 

244 


A     N^W     LEAF 

sic,  that  Flora  whispered  to  Mr.  Jones :  "Look  at  Miss 
Winston :  she's  in  a  trance."  Yet,  in  spite  of  her  ab- 
sorption, she  was  thinking  how  differently  the  pianist 
had  impressed  her  five  months  before.  Madame  Fried- 
enthal  had  remained  the  same;  it  was  Hope  who  had 
changed.  Now  she  was  able  to  give  music  her  atten- 
tion, whereas  formerly  she  gave  it  only  her  emotions ; 
then  she  listened  ecstatically,  now  esthetically.  And 
in  this  mental  activity,  which  denied  not  a  single  sense 
impression,  she  found  a  keener,  more  abiding  pleasure 
than  in  that  unconditional  surrender  of  the  intellect 
which,  not  long  ago,  the  first  chord  of  a  symphony 
compelled. 

Her  appreciation  of  the  pianist  increased  corre- 
spondingly. Madame  appeared  less  wonderful,  but 
more  admirable.  The  present  Beethoven  Sonata  was 
one  which  Hope  was  able  to  give  a  good  account  of; 
but  how  paltry  seemed  her  own  performance  beside 
Madame  Friedenthal's  perfect  artistry;  scarcely  a 
measure  that  could  be  set  against  it.  That  technic! 
was  it  inexplicable?  That  technic  which  concealed  it- 
self, which  could  give  an  effect  of  artless  simplicity 
to  a  turn  or  trill ;  which  could  take  half  a  dozen  tones 
and  so  color  them  that  one  almost  cried  out  in  delight ; 
was  that  genius  alone.?    No;  it  was  genius  plus  work, 

245 


THE    CHARLATANS 

unremitting  toil.  This  mature  woman,  who  ranked 
among  the  few  great  pianists  of  the  world,  had  worked 
and  still  worked  as  Hope  never  had  done.  That  sim- 
ple little  turn  of  five  tones  had  cost  her  as  much  time 
and  thought  as  Hope  often  gave  to  an  entire  compo- 
sition ;  that  octave  scale  passage,  wliich  she  glided  over 
so  lightly,  represented  days  of  drudgery. 

Hope's  enjoyment  of  the  final  number  was  sub- 
merged by  a  wave  of  humiliation  and  self-censure. 
Her  unworthiness  to'  aspire  to  stand  beside  Madame 
Friedenthal  stood  naked.  Gray  was  right,  Penwell 
was  right:  there  is  only  one  path  to  Parnassus,  and 
there  are  no  tea-gardens  along  the  way.  She,  who 
had  fancied  herself  well  up  the  slope,  was  playing  but- 
terfly among  the  flowers  at  the  foot  of  it. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  whispered  Arthur 
West. 

She  started,  then  looked  at  him  as  if  she  were  for 
the  first  time  setting  eyes  on  him. 

"You  would  repent  the  bargain,"  she  said  quietly. 

He  felt  the  change  in  her  manner,  and,  discreetly 
holding  his  tongue,  began  to  gather  up  her  wraps. 
The  slight  restraint  upon  their  amity  was  removed 
by  a  young  woman  behind  them,  who  remarked  to  her 
companion:    "Miss  Lynch  played  at  a   concert  for 

246 


A  ne;sv   leaf 

charity  where  the  tickets  were  a  hundred  dollars  each. 
She  plays  cross-hand  pieces." 

Hope  flashed  a  mirthful  glance  at  Arthur,  and  the 
mercurial  youth  beamed  again. 

"Shall  we  go  behind  and  congratulate  Madame 
Friedenthal  ?"  he  suggested. 

She  signified  her  readiness,  and  they  joined  the  little 
crowd  of  worshipers  behind-scenes. 

Viewed  at  close  range,  Madame  Friedenthal  was 
seen  to  be  a  tense  little  woman,  with  a  most  interesting 
face,  now  pale  and  drawn  from  the  strain  of  the  per- 
formance. She  was  very  short-sighted,  and  looked 
peeringly  into  each  new  face  that  came  before  her.  As 
Arthur  predicted,  there  was  opportunity  only  to 
"squeeze  in  a  hand-shake,"  but  that  was  something. 
Hope  was  thrilled  by  the  touch  of  the  steely  fingers, 
eloquent  beyond  words.  She  stammered  something 
about  "a  privilege  and  an  inspiration,"  then  gave 
place  to  a  pushing  female  relative  of  Madame  Frieden- 
thal's,  who  embraced  the  pianist  cooingly. 

When  they  rejoined  Mrs.  West's  little  i>arty,  supper 
was  proposed  by  Mr.  Jones,  but  Miss  Winston  begged 
to  be  excused,  pleading  a  headache.  Arthur  sum- 
moned a  carriage,  and  as  he  accompanied  her  to  it  he 
remarked :  "Shall  we  see  you  to-morrow  night .f^" 

247 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Thank  you,  Arthur,  but  I  think  not.  My  butter- 
fly existence  ends  to-night." 

"The  deuce!"  he  exclaimed.  "You're  not  going  to 
take  the  veil.?" 

"I  am  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf." 

"Don't.  Old  things  are  best :  old  wine,  old  friends, 
old  leaves     .     .     ." 

"I  must  not  idle  any  more.  I  must  devote  all  my 
time  to  music." 

"But" — dejectedly — "what  is  to  become  of  me? 
Am  I  never  to  see  you  .'*" 

"Shall  you  continue  your  language  lessons?" 

**To  be  sure,"  he  cried,  brightening.  "Henceforth, 
excepting  Tuesday  and  Friday,  my  calendar  is  blank 
paper." 

"What  a  wicked  waste  of  time!  Good  night,  Ar- 
thur." 

"Adieu,  most  beautiful  of  hermits." 

He  closed  the  carriage  door,  and  returned  discon- 
solate to  his  friends. 


248 


CHAPTER     XX 


Princess  Hope  threw  open  the  window,  and  spring 
came  in,  as  it  entered  the  hut  of  Hunding. 

The  air  was  clean  and  sweet,  with  a  tang  of  stirring 
mold.  The  sky  was  cloudless,  the  sunlight  golden; 
the  south  breathed  faintly.  A  lilac  bush  across  the 
way  yielded  its  odor  to  the  drawing  sun ;  the  buds  of  a 
maple  before  the  house  disclosed,  almost  perceptibly, 
their  plicate  green. 

We  say  one  morning,  "It  is  spring !"  And  thoughts 
wake  as  wake  the  maple  buds;  and  all  that  is  sweet 
within  us  exhales,  as  odor  from  the  lilac. 

The  smell  of  earth  sent  Hope's  thoughts  flying 
northward;  to  a  land  where  spring  comes  slowly,  as 

249 


THE    CHARLATANS 

in  the  land  of  Christabel.  In  her  happy  valley,  though 
May  Day  was  within  cry,  the  spell  of  the  frost,  she 
knew,  was  not  yet  exorcised:  the  snow  yet  lingered  in 
the  coverts  of  the  gorge ;  ice  edged  the  wayward  little 
river  and  lurked  in  the  swamp-land.  Thither  Spring, 
with  laggard  steps,  was  journeying.  Her  guise  in 
towns  was  not  her  guise  in  woods,  but  the  voice  was 
one — faintly,  alluringly,  insistently  calling. 

Hope  shut  her  piano,  and  put  away  the  leaves  of 
Mendelssohn  and  Wagner.  These  but  told  of  spring : 
Spring  itself  was  out  of  doors.  The  day  was  Sunday ; 
all  the  town  was  abroad ;  the  parks  were  filled  with  mer- 
rymakers. 

Through  one  of  these  oases  wandered  Hope,  sapful 
as  the  greening  trees,  throbbing  with  life,  stirred  by 
strange  sweet  longings — amorphous,  unrealized  de- 
sires. Her  senses  were  gladdened  by  the  sunshine,  by 
earthy  odors,  by  the  red  of  the  robin's  breast,  the  blue 
of  the  bluebird's  wing,  the  green  of  the  springing 
grass,  the  silver  of  the  still  lagoon.  An  unwonted 
tenderness  merged  her  with  the  crowd  that  streamed 
along  the  park  walks  and  spread  over  the  lawns.  She 
smiled  upon  a  shabby  old  gentleman  sitting  disconso- 
late on  a  bench,  and  he  revived  perceptibly.  She 
picked  up  a  bawling  urchin  who  had  fallen  from  his 

250 


"LOVE     IN     T'HE     VALLEY" 

tricycle,  and  sent  him  dry-eyed  upon  his  way.  She 
bought  a  taffied  apple  for  a  ragged  little  chick  who 
was  looking  wistfully  at  the  vender's  wares ;  and  pick- 
ing up  another  tot,  with  a  "Don't  you  want  to  ride, 
too?"  she  set  her  on  the  back  of  a  donkey  magnificently 
caparisoned. 

Soon  she  was  too  happy  longer  to  remain  in  and  of 
the  crowd.  Her  exaltation  demanded  seclusion,  scarcely 
to  be  found  in  a  city  park  on  Sunday :  one  might  as 
well  seek  covert  on  the  boulevard.  She  set  her  face 
homeward,  when  suddenly  she  descried  a  young  man 
stretched  at  length  upon  a  slope  above  an  arm  of  the 
lagoon.  One  hand,  thrust  through  his  hair,  supported 
his  head,  the  other  held  an  open  book. 

Surely  an  interesting  book.  He  read  steadily,  un- 
disturbed even  by  a  noisy  boating  party  that  passed 
below  him.  Presently  he  put  down  the  book,  and  sat 
up  to  light  a  cigarette.  As  he  glanced  around  he  ob- 
served a  young  woman  standing  near;  an  exuberant 
young  woman,  who  had  restrained  an  impulse  to  steal 
up  behind  him,  clap  her  hands  over  his  eyes,  and  cry 
out:    "Guess  who.?" 

'^Please  don't  get  up,"  said  Hope :  "I  will  sit  down 
instead.    The  grass  is  dry  V* 

"Perfectly.  The  sun  is  hot  as  midsummer's." 
251 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Gray  spread  out  his  light  overcoat,  and  Hope  ac- 
cepted a  corner  of  it.  "Now,  please  light  your  cigar- 
ette," she  said.    "Do  you  come  here  often.?" 

"Rarely;  never  on  Sundays — until  to-day.  The 
spring  drove  me  out.  The  feel  of  the  grass,  even  this 
sophisticated  sward,  is  refreshing." 

"You  look  tired.    You  have  been  working  too  hard." 

"I  think  not.    I  shall  be  going  away  before  long." 

"To  your  north  country .?" 

"Yes.  The  music  season  is  about  done  for.  You, 
too,  will  be  going  north,  I  suppose." 

"I  am  in  no  need  of  a  vacation." 

"You  are  looking  well." 

He  added  to  himself  that  never  had  she  looked  so 
radiant  as  on  this  April  morning,  so  like  a  young  god- 
dess of  the  vernal  season. 

"If  I  felt  any  better  I  should  be  unable  to  contain 
myself,"  she  averred  truthfully. 

"A  summer  in  town  will  test  your  vivacity,"  he 
warned  her,  "and  you  will  have  a  dull  time  of  it :  your 
friends  will  be  away." 

"I  shall  not  miss  them.  Friends  are  a  drain  on  one's 
time  and  energy.    A  wise  man  said  that." 

Was  she  mocking  him  ?  Her  eyes  were  very  mirth- 
ful.   Gray's  face  shadowed.    "The  wise  man  knows 

252 


"LOVE     IN     -rHE     VALLEY" 

himself  to  be  a  fool,"  he  quoted,  and  looked  across  the 
lagoon. 

"And  the  fool  doth  think  she  is  wise,"  she  re- 
joined, paralleling  his  gaze. 

Gray  turned  his  steady  eyes  on  her  face.  It  grew 
warm  under  the  scrutiny,  and  her  heart  throbbed  as  it 
throbbed  that  night  in  Music  Hall  when  first  their 
glances  met. 

"How  are  your  studies  progressing?"  he  asked. 

"Very  well.  Do  you  know,  my  small  affairs  have 
always  monopolized  our  conversations." 

"That  is  as  it  should  be,  I  think." 

"And  I  think  not.  You  have  never  told  me  a  thing 
about  yourself.    Won't  you  begin  now  ?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell,"  he  answered,  his  eyes 
still  on  her  face. 

"But  there  must  be,"  she  insisted,  and  so  positively 
that  both  laughed,  she  somewhat  constrainedly.  For 
all  at  once  she  knew  that  she  loved  the  man  beside  her, 
that  she  always  should  love  him,  and  that  the  most 
trivial  item  of  his  past,  the  smallest  plan  or  promise  of 
his  future,  was  precious  to  her. 

"There  must  be,"  she  repeated  tremulously.  "You 
have  done  things  and  thought  things;  you  have  dis- 
likes and  preferences.    .    .    ." 

25S 


THE    CHARLATANS 

*'My  favorite  gem  is  the  diamond;  my  favorite 
flower,  the  double  nasturtium ;  my  favorite  poet,  Owen 
Meredith — "  The  hurt  look  in  her  eyes  stopped 
him. 

"Some  one  told  me  you  were  writing  a  play,"  she 
said. 

"A  poor  thing,  but  mine  own." 

"Won't  you  tell  me  about  that?" 

"I  am  not  yet  able  to  tell  myself  about  it.  It  is 
still  in  the  nebulous  stage." 

"Is  it  a  comedy  or  a  tragedy.?" 

"A  comedy — ^which,  with  'the  death  of  a  dear 
friend,  would  go  near  to  make  a  man  look  sad.' " 

"You  are  provokingly  uncommunicative     . 
except  on  one  subject — your  north  country.     Since 
you  told  me   about  your  Lake   of  Dreams   I   have 
wondered  often  how  it  looks." 

"You  know  as  well  as  I." 

"Perhaps  our  mental  images  agree.  I  can  see  on 
the  south  shore  a  tiny  pine-covered  promontory,  slop- 
ing gently  to  the  water's  edge — ^just  the  place  for 
your  camp." 

Gray  smiled.  "I  hope  to  find  just  such  a  spot, 
though  I  doubt  the  pine ;  more  likely  birch  and  balsam. 
I  shall  send  you  a  description  of  it." 

254 


"LOVE     IN     THE     VALLEY" 

"Will  you?  ...  I  shall  try  not  to  be  disap- 
pointed if  you  forget." 

"I  do  not  forget  so  easily.  Besides,  was  it  not  you 
who  gave  the  lake  its  name?" 

"Subject  to  your  approval." 

"No  other  name  is  now  possible — except,  perhaps, 
Lake  Hope." 

This,  his  first  pronouncement  of  her  Christian 
name,  produced  a  sweet  disorder  in  her  senses.  When 
she  could  trust  herself  to  speak  again,  she  said: 

"May  I  see  the  book  you  are  reading  ?" 

He  gave  it  to  her. 

"  'Poems'  by  George  Meredith.  You  mentioned 
Owen." 

"On  second  thought  I  prefer  George." 

"I  have  read  one  or  two  of  his  books.  Do  you  con- 
sider him  the  greatest  English  novelist?" 

"I  should  not  assert  that.  But  I  get  more  out  of 
him." 

"You  ought  to  know :  you  are  a  critic." 

"Oh," — a  shrug,  "I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  critic ;  I 
am  too  impressionistic." 

"There  are  impressionists  and  critics,  then?" 

"And  enraptured  amateurs." 

She  turned  the  leaves  of  the  book. 
255 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"I  suppose  this  is  difficult  reading,"  she  said  with 
some  hesitation. 

"Difficulties  are  desired.  There  comes  a  time  when 
the  obvious  no  longer  satisfies." 

"I  suppose  so.  .  .  .  What  does  this  mean.?" 
She  read  a  few  lines,  and  added:  "Descriptive  notes 
by  Doctor  Dudelsack  might  make  it  clear."  Then  she 
put  the  book  in  his  hands,  saying:  "Please  read  me 
your  favorite  poem." 

"It  is  rather  too  long,"  said  Gray ;  "but  I  will  read 
a  stanza  from  another  poem.    Do  you  fancy  this .? 

*'  'Heartless  she  is  as  the  shadow  in  the  meadows 

Flying  to  the  hills  on  a  blue  and  breezy  noon. 
No,  she  is  athirst  and  drinking  up  her  wonder: 

Earth  to  her  is  young  as  the  slip  of  the  new  moon. 
Deals  she  an  unkindness_,  'tis  but  her  rapid  measure. 

Even  as  in  a  dance ;  and  her  smile  can  heal  no  less : 
Like  the  swinging  May-cloud  that  pelts  the  flowers  with 
hailstones 

Off  a  sunny  border,  she  was  made  to  bruise  and  bless.*  " 

While  he  read  Hope  thought:  "What  pretty  hair 
he  has !"  and  wished  she  might  stretch  out  a  hand 
and  smooth  it.  That  being  out  of  the  question,  slie 
furtively  stroked  the  coat  he  had  spread  for  her;  it 
was  part  of  him. 

256 


**  Please  read  mt;  your  favorite  poem  "       P^ge  2^6 


"LOVE     IN     "FHE     VALLEY" 

"Andante  cantabile,"  was  her  comment  when  he 
looked  up  from  the  page.  "And  who  was  the  heartless 
She?" 

"A  rustic  maiden.  The  poem  is  titled  'Love  In  the 
VaUey'." 

"Love  In  the  Valley,"  she  repeated.  "What  magic 
there  is  in  certain  words — valley,  for  one." 

"Sesame,  for  another,"  he  suggested. 

"And  Camelot." 

"And  Samarcand,  'that  name  of  names.'  " 

She  thrilled  to  his  voice,  her  cup  of  exaltation  brim- 
ming. 

He  passed  to  the  following  page,  saying:  "This 
is  my  favorite  stanza.  For  absolute  beauty  I  know 
of  nothing  in  English  that  surpasses  it : 

"  'Mother  of  the  dews,  dark  eye-lashed  twilight. 

Low-lidded  twilight,  o'er  the  valley's  brim, 
Rounding  ou  thy  breast  sings  the  dew-delighted  skylark, 

Clear  as  though  the  dewdrops  had  their  voice  in  him. 
Hidden  where  the  rose-flush  drinks  the  rayless  planet. 

Fountain-full  he  pours  the  spraying  fountain  showers. 
Let  me  hear  her  laughter,  I  would  have  her  ever 

Cool  as  dew  in  twilight,  the  lark  above  the  flowers.'  ** 

"It  is  very  beautiful,"  murmured  Hope  unsteadily. 
He  shifted  to  a  more  comfortable  position,  and  his 
257 


THE    CHARLATANS 

coat-sleeve  brushed  her  arm.  At  the  contact  she  drew 
back,  frightened,  trembhng.  She  felt  as  one  who, 
standing  on  a  high  place,  has  desire  to  spring  into  the 
void.  Had  he  thrown  down  the  book  at  that  moment 
and  held  out  his  arms,  she  would  have  made  the  leap. 
Instead,  he  passed  to  another  page,  and  read: 

**  *A  wind  sways  the  pines. 

And  below 
Not  a  breath  of  wild  air; 
Still  as  the  mosses  that  glow 
On  the  flooring  and  over  the  lines 
Of  the  roots  here  and  there. 
The  pine-tree  drops  its  dead; 
They  are  quiet,  as  under  the  sea. 
Overhead,  overhead 
Rushes  life  in  a  race. 
As  the  clouds  the  clouds  chase; 

And  we  go. 
And  we  drop  like  the  fruits  of  the  tree. 

Even  we. 

Even  so.'*  '* 

He  misinterpreted  her  deep-drawn  breath.  The 
moment  of  passion  had  spent  itself,  the  danger  was 
by.  She  smiled — moist-eyed,  but  inwardly  controlled 
and  outwardly  calm. 

"It  is  beautiful  as  the  music  of  Brahms,"  she  said. 

"They  are  not  unlike,"  he  agreed;  "and  I  think  I 
258 


"LOVE     IN^HE     VALLEY" 

should  add  another — Browning.  .  .  .  Would  you 
like  to  take  the  book?" 

"Thank  you,  yes.  And — I  think  I  will  walk  a  bit 
now." 

He  sprang  up  and  gave  her  a  hand. 

That  night,  sometime  between  midnight  and  dawn, 
Princess  Hope  woke  from  a  beautiful  dream  with  a 
name  on  her  lips;  a  dream  of  two  in  a  valley — ^twi- 
light, rose-flush,  the  lark  above  the  flowers. 

She  put  out  a  hand  in  the  dark,  and,  taking  a  book 
from  a  stand  beside  the  bed,  she  laid  it  against  her 
throat. 


259 


CHAPTER     XXI 


CONTAINING       THE       SUBSTANCE       OF 
S  E  V  E  E.  A  li      LETTERS 

Hope  had  finished  her  weekly  letter  to  her  mother, 
and  was  composing  another  for  Alice  Winston's  de- 
lectation. 

This,  like  all  her  communications  to  her  little  sister, 
took  the  form  of  a  fairy  tale,  and  related  the  ad- 
ventures of  a  young  person  named  Dolores,  who,  after 
traveling  east  of  the  sun  and  west  of  the  moon  and 
north  of  the  polar  star,  came  unto  the  kingdom  of 
Heart's  Desire,  where  dwelt  the  handsomest,  the  most 
amiable  prince  in  all  the  world.  Dolores  fell  instantly'- 
in  love  with  him,  which  was  a  piece  of  ill  luck,  for  the 
Prince  was  already  loved  by  Princess  Radia,  of  his 
court,  who  was  ever  so  much  more  attractive  than 

260 


SEVERAL.    LETTERS 

Dolores ;  besides,  the  astrologers  had  foretold  that  he 
would  wed  Princess  Radia,  and  they  would  live  hap- 
pily ever  afterward.  While  Dolores  was  lamenting 
this  sad  state  of  affairs,  for  which  nobody  in  par- 
ticular was  to  blame,  an  old  woman  suddenly  ap- 
peared before  her,  and  asked:  "Why  do  you  weep, 
my  child?"  "I  weep,"  replied  Dolores,  "because  the 
Prince  of  the  Heart  of  Gold  is  to  wed  the  beautiful 
Princess  Radia."  "Be  of  good  cheer,"  said  the  old 
woman;  "that  is  easily  prevented.  I  am  a  powerful 
fairy,  and  am  disposed  to  help  you ;  for  one  day,  when 
I  was  very  thirsty,  you  gave  me  a  cup  of  water  with 
your  own  pretty  hands,  little  thinking  that  your  kind 
deed  would  bring  you  good  luck."  "Alas!"  said 
Dolores,  "I  fear  there  is  nothing  you  can  do  to  help 
me."  "Tut!  tut!"  said  the  fairy.  "I  wiU  change 
Princess  Radia  into  a  mouse,  or  an  owl,  or  anything 
else  you  please;  that  will  settle  /i^r."  But  Dolores 
shook  her  head.  "Oh,  no,"  said  she ;  "I  am  very  fond 
of  Princess  Radia,  and  not  for  the  world  would  I 
have  anything  happen  to  her.  I  am  afraid  you 
can  not  be  of  any  assistance."  "Pshaw!"  returned 
the  fairy.  "All  is  fair  in  love.  Suppose,  then,  that  I 
change  the  Prince  into  a  swineherd.  After  you  have 
married  him  I  can  change  him  back  again."     "Oh, 

261 


THE    CHARLATANS 

dear,  no !"  cried  Dolores.  "I  would  not  have  him  the 
least  bit  different  from  what  he  now  is.  Really,  there 
is  nothing  you  can  do  to  mend  matters."  "Bosh!" 
exclaimed  the  fairy  impatiently.  "I  have  it! — I  will 
change  you  into  the  most  beautiful  princess  in  all  the 
world.  Every  day  you  will  grow  prettier ;  every  time 
you  open  your  mouth  a  piece  of  gold  will  fall  out; 
and  the  Prince  will  marry  you  on  sight."  But  Dolores 
a  third  time  shook  her  head.  "Thank  you  very  much," 
she  said,  "but  I  believe  I  would  rather  remain  as  I 
am.  One  should  not  sacrifice  one's  individuality  even 
to  wed  a  prince."  "Oh,  very  well,"  grumbled  the 
fairy.  "If  I  can  not  change  one  thing  into  another 
my  fairy  occupation  is  gone,  and  I  might  as  well  go 
with  it."  Saying  which  she  promptly  vanished,  like 
all  unappreciated  opportunities.  .  ,  .  This  tale 
teaches  us,  children,  that  we  should  give  a  cup  of 
water  to  every  thirsty  old  lady  we  meet;  also,  that 
there  are  some  things  which  can  not  be  helped,  even  by 
fairies. 

Hope  smiled  when  she  finished  the  tale,  sighed  when 
she  sealed  the  letter.  It  was  an  outlet  for  her  own 
emotions,  and  it  would  have  no  other  than  a  surface 
meaning  for  her  little  sister.  There  are  many  pages 
writ  with  heart's  blood  which  possess  no  deeper  sig- 

262 


SEVERA/L    LETTERS 

nificance  for  the  casual  reader.  Nor  was  it  purposed 
that  they  should. 

Madame  Jesurin,  coming  in  a  little  later  with  a 
wonderful  tale  about  Mazdaznan,  a  new  religious  cult, 
found  Miss  Winston  engrossed  in  a  book. 

"Something  new,  Schdtzchen?"  she  queried.  If  it 
were,  she  intended  borrowing  it. 

"  Toems'  by  George  Meredith,"  Hope  replied, 
closing  the  book,  but  with  a  finger  between  the  leaves. 

*^Ja,  Meredith !"  exclaimed  Madame.  "I  love  Mere- 
dith! 'Lucile'  is  grand.  And  'Aux  Itahens!'  she 
quoted  the  opening  stanza. 

Hope  thought  it  quite  unnecessary  to  enlighten  her. 
"And  how  did  you  fancy  Razdaz —  What  did  you  say 
it  was .?"  she  asked. 

"Mazdaznan.  It  means  sun  worship,  but  it  teaches 
us  to  worship  ourselves,  for  we  are  greater  than  the 
sun." 

"A  self-respecting  creed,  at  all  events." 

"Gewiss.  We  possess  the  accumulated  intelligence 
of  all  things  that  ever  existed.  Being  everything, 
all  we  need  is  control,  and  this  we  get  from  Mazdaz- 
nan." 

"I  see." 

"All  one  has  to  do  is  to  live  simply  and  breathe 
263 


THE    CHARLATANS 

properly;  so  few  people  breathe  as  they  should.  If 
one  is  weary  or  worried,  a  few  breaths  properly 
drawn  will  revive  or  soothe.  It  is  very  interesting 
and  simple." 

Hope  remarked  that  their  friend  Mr.  West  would 
likely  be  interested  in  Mazdaznan:  any  new  breath- 
ing system  challenged  his  attention.  She  reopened 
her  book,  and  Madame,  taking  the  hint  (and  a  sauce- 
pan which  she  transiently  required),  returned  to  her 
own  apartments. 

"Which  poem  was  Churchill  Gray's  favorite  .'"'Hope 
questioned,  as  she  idled  through  the  pages.  Perhaps 
"The  Day  of  the  Daughter  of  Hades" ;  that  was  one 
of  the  long  ones,  and  there  were  many  wonderful  pas- 
sages in  it ;  such  as — 

"He  saw  through  leaves 
The  Mother  and  Daughter  meet. 
They  stood  by  the  chariot-wheel. 
Embraced,  very  tall,  most  like 
Fellow  poplars,  wind-taken,  that  reel 
Down  their  shivering  columns  and  strike 
Head  to  head,  crossing  throats." 

She  wished  she  knew  for  certain:  she  would  com- 
mit the  poem  to  memory,  though  it  were  twice  as  long 
as  a  Bach  fugue.     A  sweet  desire  possessed  her  to 

264 


SEVERA-t    LETTERS 

like  the  things  he  liked,  to  make  his  gods  her  gods, 
to  look  out  on  the  world  through  his  eyes.  Ambition 
fell  away ;  faded  the  picture  so  often  in  her  mind — a 
crowded  concert  hall,  the  audience  in  a  tumult,  a  gray- 
haired  conductor  taking  a  young  woman  by  the  hand 
to  congratulate  her.  Another  picture  took  its  place : 
two  in  a  valley,  hand  in  hand  by  the  river's  brim, 
watching  the  rose-flush  die  and  listening  to  the  voice 
of  the  rapids. 

Her  day-dream  was  interrupted  by  the  postman. 
He  brought  three  letters.  The  scrawling  superscrip- 
tion of  one  disclosed  the  hand  of  Farmer  Winston; 
another  was  from  West,  the  third  from  Flora.  In 
this  order  they  were  opened. 

Farmer  Winston's  communication  was  character- 
istically brief  and  unexpectedly  uncheerful.  He  ex- 
pressed gratification  over  his  daughter's  progress  in 
her  studies,  but  could  hold  out  no  hope  of  financial 
support  beyond  the  conservatory  year. 

"Mother  has  been  bad  off  this  winter,"  he  wrote; 
and  he  added  (parenthetically,  as  perhaps  the  idea 
had  occurred  to  him) :  "Been  working  too  hard, 
likely." 

So  there  was  a  doctor's  score  to  settle.  Then  the 
gray  mare  had  done   for  herself  in  a  barbed-wire 

265 


THE    CHARLATANS 

fence,  and  a  promising  timber  trade  had  fallen 
through.    Altogether — 

"Poor  mother!"  sighed  Hope.  "Why  will  she 
overdo?" 

Alas!  mothers  are  much  the  same  the  world  over. 
They  will  overdo. 

Memory  flung  back,  unblurred  by  time  or  tears, 
Gray's  scornful  speech:  "Teachers  of  music!  .  ,  . 
They  ought  to  be  back  on  the  farm,  helping  their 
mothers  with  the  housework." 

A  teacher  of  music !  was  that  to  be  her  career?  Her 
heart  sickened,  and  she  put  the  hateful  thought 
aside,  realizing  that  the  day  was  near  when  it  could 
no  longer  be  blinked. 

Arthur's  letter  was  all  sunshine.  Would  Miss  Wins- 
ton, the  charming  hermit,  forgo  scourging  herself 
with  Bach  and  Brahms  long  enough  to  accompany 
Mr.  West  to  a  May  Night  entertainment.  "Stanley 
Jones,"  he  wrote,  "proposes  to  celebrate  the  seventy- 
fifth  thousand  of  his  latest  book  with  a  literary  cos- 
tume party,  or  something  of  that  sort.  He  is  going 
to  put  a  few  of  his  royalties  back  into  circulation,  and 
he  ought  to  be  encouraged." 

Flora's  letter  contained  the  gentle  reproach: 
"Where  have  you  been  for  a  fortnight  back?   I  have 

266 


SEVERArr   LETTERS 

been  under  the  weather,  and  so  could  not  look  you  up 
personally,  but  Arthur  tells  me  you  are  declining  all 
invitations  and  killing  yourself  with  work.  Please 
make  an  exception  of  the  May  party.  As  Arthur  has 
probably  told  you,  Mr.  Jones  is  getting  up  a  liter'y- 
paintery-music  masquerade,  and  it  promises  good  fun. 
Stanley  (oh,  I  beg  his  pardon — the  Sieur  de  Jones) 
has  requested  me  to  appear  as  Queen  of  the  May,  and 
is  himself  going  as  Literature.  We  both  thought  you 
would  be  very  fetching,  dearie,  as  the  Heroine  of  Ro- 
mance, maid-of-honor  to  the  Queen.  Nobody  is  ex- 
pected to  provide  a  costume;  Mr.  Jones  requests  the 
privilege  of  attending  to  that,  and  he  promises  to 
make  the  French  court  look  like  a  poverty  party. 

"P.  S. — I  have  some  good  news  for  you.  You  re- 
member my  telling  you  last  winter  about  one  of 
brother  Fred's  crazy  business  ventures,  which  carried 
off  his  and  Churchill  Gray's  money.  Well,  Fred  writes 
me  from  somewhere  in  Utah  that  the  entei'prise  has 
panned  out  just  as  he  said  it  would  when  he  went  into 
it,  and  that  he  and  Churchill  will  get  back  their  money 
and  a  lot  more  with  it.  Aren't  you  glad? — for  Mr. 
Gray,  of  course.  It's  always  the  unexpected  that  hap- 
pens, isn't  it.?" 

Not  always,  my  dear  Miss  Matheson,  We  occasion- 
267 


THE    CHARLATANS 

ally  discount  the  future.  There  are  some  things,  not 
making  for  our  happiness,  which  we  feel  must  happen 
some  day ;  we  dread  them,  yet  we  are  not  sorry  when 
they  come  along  and  we  can  put  them  behind  us. 

The  inevitable  it  is,  not  the  unexpected,  that  always 
happens.  It  was  inevitable  that  the  barrier  between 
Churchill  Gray  and  Flora  Matheson  should  some  day 
be  removed,  since  it  was  a  mere  matter  of  money, 
which  neither  esteemed  beyond  human  happiness. 
Thus  reasoned  Princess  Hope. 

Yes;  she  was  glad  for  Mr.  Gray  Above  all  else, 
she  desired  his  happiness.  It  was  a  simple  thing  to 
say,  and  say  again  and  yet  again.  Yet  it  was  the 
sum  of  her  thought. 

Madame  Jesurin,  saucepan  in  hand,  knocked  at  the 
door  of  the  smaller  room.  There  was  no  response, 
and,  the  door  being  ajar,  she  entered  and  hung  the 
utensil  on  its  hook.  Passing  out,  she  glanced  into  the 
other  apartment,  and  observed  her  young  friend  lying 
on  the  sofa,  her  face  in  her  hands.  A  letter  had  flut- 
tered to  the  floor. 

Madame  shut  the  door  softly. 


268 


CHAPTER     XXII 


THE      QUEEN      S     MAYING 


Sumptuous  as  are  dramatic  productions  in  our  own 
times — to  the  last  degree  of  extravagance,  one  would 
say — who  has  not  wished  that  he  might  witness  one  of 
the  masques  which  flourished  in  Ben  Jonson's  day, 
composed  for  princes  and  by  princes  played? — who, 
I  mean,  that  is  familiar  with  the  history  of  those 
gorgeous  and  poetic  entertainments.  I  confess  I  am 
not,  being  dependent  for  information  upon  Stanley 
Arthur  Jones,  ransacker  of  the  past,  dweller  in  dusty 
yesterdays.  I  have  Mr.  Jones's  word  for  it  that  many 
of  the  masques  cost  the  exhibitors  as  large  a  sum  as 
a  New  York  bachelor  will  spend  on  a  small  dinner  at 
the  Mammon  Hotel ;  that  nothing  in  our  time  can  be 

269 


THE    CHARLATANS 

compared  with  them  for  magnificence  of  mise  en  scene, 
for  poetic  plan,  invention,  fancy,  and  exquisite  art 
in  the  acting.  No  doubt  Mr.  Jones  has  the  docu- 
ments backing  up  this  claim. 

Casting  about  for  some  original  and  princely  plan 
whereby  to  entertain  his  host  of  friends,  the  author 
of  "With  Rack  and  Wheel"  hit  upon  the  idea  of  an 
Elizabethan  masque.  He  announced  that,  represent- 
ing Literature,  he  should  write  a  fanciful  little 
something,  and  Painting,  Architecture  and  Music  were 
invited  to  cooperate,  as  was  their  privilege  in  the  day 
of  rare  Ben.  These  arts  should  be  represented  by  Mr. 
Jones's  friends  in  the  Pekoe  Club  and  out  of  it,  and 
they  were  requested  to  spare  no  expense  in  the  matter 
of  costume,  Mr.  Jones  standing  the  entire  magnificent 
treat. 

The  "fanciful  little  something"  was  written  along 
lines  suggested  by  Ernest  Penwell,  whose  counsel  the 
author  solicited.  "Since  it  is  to  celebrate  one  of  the 
triumphs  of  letters,"  said  Penwell,  "let  it  be  a  literary 
masque.  Thus,  let  the  principal  role,  which  you  will 
play,  be  Literature,  fantastically  costumed  as  a  Best- 
Seller,  edition  de  luxe — doublet  of  crushed-Levant  or 
limp-calf,  hand-woven  silk  hose,  and  other  things  to 
match." 

270 


**THE     QUEE>i^'S     MAYING" 

"Egad,  a  quaint  conceit,"  murmured  the  author, 
flattered  by  the  phrase,  "triumph  of  letters." 

"Then,  a  Queen  of  the  May,  to  give  the  necessary 
touch  of  royalty — or  royalties.  Now,  that  superb 
Miss  Matheson,  I  should  say,  would  symbolize  your 
royalties  capitally." 

Mr.  Jones  blushed  with  pleasure. 

"Put  me  down,"  said  Penwell,  "as  a  Worst-Seller ; 
or  stay,  cast  me  as  publisher:  this  is  Ercles'  vein,  a 
part  to  tear  an  author  in ;  I  have  always  yearned  for 
the  role." 

"Excellent,  i'  faith,"  said  Jones. 

"Then  you  might  have  a  Hero  of  Romance,  and  a 
Heroine  of  Romance ;  a  couple  of  bravos,  'Sdeath  and 
Gadzooks  respectively;  a  duke  or  two,  an  innkeeper, 
etcetera,  etcetera,  as  your  Elizabethan  fancy  sug- 
gests. For  properties,  a  literary  hack,  in  which  the 
Hero  and  Heroine  elope,  a  Pierian  Spring,  a  Well  of 
English  Undefiled,  and  what  not.  Lastly,  a  good  title 
for  the  masque.     .     .     ." 

"I  had  thought  of  *The  Queen's  Maying,'  "  replied 
Jones. 

"The  very  thing !"  Penwell  declared. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  on  May  Night  the  large 
hall  on  the  top  floor  of  the  Beaux  Arts  Temple  con- 

271 


THE    CHARLATANS 

tained  the  most  brilliant  spectacle  imaginable.     The 
French  court  was  nowhere. 

The  reader,  peeping  over  my  shoulder  a+  the  en- 
chanting picture,  will  recognize  some  of  the  figures. 

That  tall,  splendidly-dressed  gentleman  in  the 
crushed-Levant  doublet  is,  of  course.  Literature:  no 
handsomer  hero  graced  the  court  of  England's  vestal 
queen.  Bess,  herself,  who  was  no  great  beauty,  would 
have  cut  but  a  sorry  figure  beside  her  impersonator, 
Flora  Matheson,  to  whom  Literature  is  at  this  mo- 
ment making  obeisance. 

That  stately  lady  with  the  ample  ruff  is  Mrs.  Addi- 
son West,  personating  "The  Spacious  Times  of  Queen 
Elizabeth."  Her  estimable  husband  is  Master  Geof- 
frey Chaucer,  the  genius  of  "The  Well  of  English 
Undefiled," — ^who  was  not,  as  I  recall  it,  an  Eliza- 
bethan.   But  he  is  not  in  the  masque. 

That  merry  gentleman  with  the  queer  long  coat, 
"half  of  yellow  and  half  of  red,"  blowing  on  a  pipe 
and  replying  "Rats!"  to  all  questions,  is  the  pied 
musician  of  Hamelin,  Victor  Mabbitt;  and  the  effer- 
vescent gentleman  at  "The  Well"  is  Karl  Geist, 
symbolizing  (for  Mr.  Jones's  benefit)  "A  Toccata  of 
Galuppi's."  "Dry,  very  dry,"  he  declares.  "When 
does  the  well  open.?" 

272 


"THE     QUEEN'S     MAYING" 

The  jolly  little  man  in  a  white  apron,  with  a  stage 
fowl  in  one  hand  and  a  bottle  of  wine  in  the  other,  is 
that  familiar  figure  in  Literature,  the  Innkeeper  (  Pro- 
fessor Jan  Van  Wart).  And  yonder  is  Doctor  Dudel- 
sack,  personating  Master  Hughes  of  Saxe-Gotha, 
"with  brow  ruled  like  a  score,"  the  lines  and  notes  of 
which  promise  to  vanish  in  perspiration. 

Lastly  (for  it  is  not  necessary  further  to  extend 
our  acquaintance),  the  Hero  and  Heroine  of  Romance. 
Arthur  West,  as  an  Elizabethan  Sea  Rover,  cuts  a 
gallant  figure  in  a  doublet  of  blue  brocade,  "or  some- 
thing of  that  sort,"  with  hose  to  match  and  a  great 
lace  frill  about  his  neck.  Mistress  Winston,  as  maid- 
of-honor  to  Queen  Bess,  is  a  vision  of  Elizabethan 
loveliness.  Her  skirt  is  of  gris  d'ete;  her  bodice  is 
amarante  embroidered  with  pearls ;  her  manches  a  jigo 
(I  think  that  is  what  Mr.  Jones  termed  them:  his  eru- 
dition is  marvelous)  are  amarante  slashed  with  jaune 
paille;  pearls  edge  her  fan-shaped  collarette ;  and  her 
coiffure,  a  towering  mass  of  chestnut  hair,  reaches  an 
apex  in  ornaments  of  pearls  and  gold. 

The  Heroine  of  Romance  is  almost  feverishly  gay; 
never  before  have  her  friends  known  her  so  ebullient. 
**I  am  out  of  drawing,  I  know,"  she  confesses  to  Flora. 
"My  role  calls  for  as  many  tears  as  smiles," 

27$ 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"At  court,  my  child,"  replies  the  Queen,  "one  must 
mask  one's  real  emotions,  and  present  a  merry  face 
though  the  heart  be  breaking." 

"Soothly,  soothly,"  remarks  Literature,  who  is 
hovering  near.  "Smiles  dispersed  through  tears,  as 
sunlight  through  a  shower,  give  us  the  rainbow.  Arch 
of  Hope,  'that  tints  to-morrow  with  prophetic  ray.'  " 

In  truth,  one  who  closely  watched  the  Heroine  of 
Romance  throughout  the  evening  (need  I  mention 
that  watcher's  name.?)  observed,  not  infrequently, 
flashes  of  melancholy  unassumed ;  moments  of  detach- 
ment when  she  vanished  from  the  picture — or,  as  it 
seemed  to  the  enamored  Hero,  when  the  picture  fell 
away  from  Tier,  She  appeared  to  have  "something  on 
her  mind,"  removing  her  at  once  from  the  character 
of  Heroine  of  Romance,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with 
mind. 

Of  the  performance  of  "The  Queen's  Maying,"  I 
shall  not  speak  in  detail.  Literature,  Painting,  Music 
and  Architecture  gave  excellent  accounts  of  them- 
selves, comparing  favorably,  I  have  no  doubt,  with 
the  work  of  Ben  Jonson,  Inigo  Jones,  and  other 
Elizabethan  masque  producers:  the  latter  Jones,  at 
all  events,  was  satisfied.  Our  chief  business  this  even- 
ing is  not  to  witness  the  masque,  but  to  keep  our  eye 

%1^ 


"THE     QUEEN'S     MAYING" 

on  a  certain  youthful  pair  and  harken  to  a  colloquy 
between  th^m. 

Well,  then,  the  masque  was  done,  the  supper  eaten, 
and  the  dancing  begun.  Those  that  did  not  wish  to 
dance  were  scattered  through  the  neighboring  studios. 
The  Hero  of  Romance,  animated  by  a  sudden  resolu- 
tion (and  possibly  fortified  by  a  draft  from  the  Pierian 
Spring),  went  in  search  of  the  Heroine  of  Romance. 
He  found  her  in  the  studio  of  Raphael  Pree,  with 
Qtieen  Elizabeth.   Her  Majesty  left  them  together. 

"Dear  Mistress  Winston,"  the  Hero  murmured,  "I 
have  long  waited  a  favoring  moment  to  have  speech 
with  thee  upon  a  matter  very  near  my  heart." 

Gallantly  spoken,  in  the  high-flown  language  that 
prevailed  throughout  the  evening ;  yet  a  little  vibrato 
in  the  young  gentleman's  voice  put  Mistress  Winston 
on  her  guard. 

"Methinks,  good  gentleman,"  she  answered,  "the 
place,  if  not  the  hour,  is  but  ill-chosen  for  a  reveal- 
ment  so  personal.    Pray  you  avoid  it." 

"Yet  must  I  speak,  dear  lady ;  for  to-morrow  I  ad- 
venture forth  to  westering  suns  and  sapphire  waters, 
to  the  King  of  Spain  his  seas,  to  palm  and  tamarind- 
fringed  shores  and  crystal  bays,  and  other  things  too 
numerous  to  set  down  in  good  sooth  or  certitude." 

275 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Mistress  Winston  smiled:  "Thy  destination,  dear 
sir,  is  nebulous  as  is  the  Milky  Way." 

"Ay,  lady ;  my  charts  are  blank  paper ;  but  I  hear 
the  hum  of  Clotho's  wheel,  and  methinks  she  spins 
moats  and  crocodiles,  pike  and  cutlass,  and  red,  red 
gold." 

"My  prayers  attend  thee,  sweet  and  gentle  sir." 

"I  would  have  more  than  thy  prayers,  dear  mis- 
tress," he  declared,  possessing  himself  of  her  hand. 

She  did  not  offer  to  withdraw  it.  Was  she  not  the 
Heroine  of  Romance  .^^   Three  centuries  protected  her. 

"My  prayers,  good  gentleman,"  she  answered 
softly,  "are  all  I  have  to  give  thee." 

The  Hero  of  Romance  was  visibly  distressed. 

"  'Tis  then  as  I  feared,"  he  said ;  "thy  heart  is 
given  elsewhere." 

"To  Music,  sweet  sir." 

The  Hero  of  Romance  was  visibly  relieved.  He 
did  not  fear  the  rivalry  of  Music:  Music  was  not  a 
man.  Besides,  had  not  he,  too,  sworn  allegiance  to  the 
art.f^  Might  not  they  serve  Music  together.?  Two 
souls  were  surely  better  than  one.  He  intimated  as 
much. 

She  shook  her  head :  "A  divided  allegiance." 

"A  dual  allegiance,"  he  protested. 
276 


.*-^?Sf*'3f^ 


**  Sweet  lady,  I  ask  but  to  serve  thee  "        Page  277 


"THE     QUEElf'S     MAYING" 

"Dear  friend,"  she  returned  gently,  "I  can  say  no 
more."  Her  eyes  were  moist. 

He  drew  in  a  steadying  breath  of  Sixteenth  Cen- 
tury atmosphere. 

"Sweet  lady,"  he  said  humbly,  "I  ask  but  to  serve 
thee — ^thee  and  Music.  Music  is  an  ungenerous  despot, 
who  provides  not  for  the  most  loyal  subject.  I  have 
lands  and  riches :  these  I  offer  thee ;  with  these  thou 
mayst  conquer  the  world     .     .     ." 

"  'Or  something  of  that  sort,'  "  she  interrupted 
flippantly,  though  her  heart  was  brimming. 

He  laughed  boyishly,  in  the  Twentieth  Century. 

"Say  yes — do  say  yes,  Hope,"  he  pleaded. 

She  looked  into  his  eager  eyes,  and  by  the  flashes 
of  love's  lightning  glimpsed  a  golden  future.  Temp- 
tation swayed  her.  "Dear  boy !"  rose  to  her  lips.  But 
the  words  went  unsaid,  and  she  drew  her  hand  away. 
The  Heroine  of  Romance  was  herself  again. 

"Good  gentleman,  you  are  out  of  character,"  she 
rallied  him. 

He  cleared  three  centuries,  landing  lightly  on  his 
feet. 

"A  plight  your  gentleman  bucaneer  oft  finds  him- 
self in,"  he  answered,  with  a  shrug;  "he  hath  little 
character  to  begin  with,  and  that  a  bad  one." 

277 


THE    CHARLATANS 

She  suggested  that  the  times  were  somewhat  to 
blame. 

"Ay,  lady."  He  touched  the  frill  about  his  neck. 
"These  be  ruff  days." 

"Atrocious !"  exclaimed  Mistress  Winston,  and  both 
laughed  unconstrainedly. 

The  Spacious  Times  of  Queen  EHzabeth  glided  into 
the  studio. 

"I  came  to  say  good  night  to  Hope,"  she  said 
sweetly,  and  took  the  young  girl's  hands.  "We  have 
seen  very  little  of  you  lately,  my  dear." 

"I  have  been  uncommonly  industrious,"  said  Hope. 
"I  must  make  the  best  of  the  last  few  weeks.  There 
will  be  time  enough  to  rest  afterward." 

The  shadow  that  crossed  her  face  was  observe^  by 
son,  if  not  by  mother. 

"I  hope  to  see  you  at  vacation  time,  at  our  country 
place,"  said  Mrs.  West.  "Of  course  you  will  wish  to 
make  a  visit  home ;  but  after  that,  if  you  can  arrange 
to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  us,  we  shall  be  happy  to 
entertain  you.  I  know  it  will  augment  Arthur's  hap- 
piness," she  added,  with  a  significance  that  discon- 
certed her  son.   "Good  night,  my  children." 

With  which  benediction  the  lady  floated  away.  The 
children  followed. 

278 


CHAPTER     XXIII 


A      RHAPSODY      AND      A      FAREWELL 


Karl  Geist's  studio  was  unpretentious  as  himself. 
It  contained  a  piano,  three  chairs,  one  of  which  was 
stacked  with  scores,  a  writing-table,  a  music-rack,  and 
a  small  clock:  these  were  essentials.  Decorations:  a 
square  of  carpet  and  a  portrait  of  Sarasate,  Geist's 
master.  Doubtful  decorations:  a  sprinkle  of  tobacco 
and  ashes  all  about,  and  a  half-dozen  pipes  out  of 
commission,  their  stems  snapped  or  bitten  partly 
through. 

At  four  in  the  afternoon  Geist  was  engaged  in 
copying  a  string  quartette.  As  the  little  clock  tinkled 
the  hour  he  pushed  his  work  aside,  and  glanced  at  the 
door,  as  if  expecting  the  most  punctual  of  pupils.  A 

279 


THE    CHARLATANS 

minute  passed ;  he  picked  up  his  pen.  Ten  more  min- 
utes went  by ;  then  came  a  hurried  knocking,  and  Miss 
Winston  entered,  somewhat  out  of  breath. 

"Tardy  for  the  first  time,"  said  Geist,  taking  her 
exercise  book  and  music-roll,  while  she  removed  her 
gloves  and  jacket. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Hope.  "I  have  been  moving  to- 
day, and  the  expressman  was  behindhand." 

"So.    Have  you  deserted  the  north  side.?" 

"Yes ;  I  am  now  at  Two-ten  Park  View  Boulevard, 
only  a  few  minutes'  walk  from  here.  I  shall  have  no 
excuse  for  being  tardy  again." 

Geist  looked  up  from  the  exercise  book.  "What 
number  did  you  say .?" 

"Two  hundred  and  ten.  .  .  .  Do  you  know 
the  house.?" 

"I  seem  to  recall  an  old-fashioned  brownstone  front, 
a  bit  run  down  at  the  heel." 

"That  describes  it.  But  my  rooms  are  uncommonly 
well  furnished,  and  the  meals  are  promising.  Well!" 
She  drew  a  chair  to  the  writing-table. 

"I  don't  like  that  bass  progression,"  said  the 
teacher,  laying  finger  on  a  measure  of  the  day's  lesson. 
"Diatonic  would  be  better.  Or  you  might  lower  the 
sixth  and  pass  into  the  dominant." 

280 


A     RHAPSODY     AND     A     FAREWELL 

So  they  took  up  the  business  of  the  hour,  further 
reference  to  which  would  scarcely  prove  entertaining 
to  the  reader  unfamiliar  with  "collateral  sevenths" 
and  kindred  delightful  mysteries. 

The  harmony  lesson  over,  Hope  opened  her  music- 
roll.  "I  am  working  on  a  Brahms  Rhapsody,"  she 
said.    "Will  you  hear  me  play  it.f*" 

Geist  took  the  music.  "So;  the  G-minor.  Miss 
Weathers  also  has  this  rhapsody  in  hand.  She  will 
be  in  presently,  to  go  over  it  with  me." 

"May  I  remain?" 

"I  was  about  to  suggest  that  each  play,  and  criti- 
cize the  other's  performance." 

Geist  put  the  music  aside,  and  entertained  Miss 
Winston  with  an  amusing  account  of  a  soulful  female 
who  had  waited  on  him  that  forenoon,  to  suggest  that 
he  set  certain  of  her  poems  to  music.  She  had  dozens 
and  dozens  of  them;  the  only  question  was,  which 
style  did  he  prefer,  "the  heroic,  the  ragtime,  or  the 
sentimental"  ?  He  expressed  a  leaning  toward  the  he- 
roic; whereupon  she  gave  him  half  a  dozen  manu- 
scripts to  try  his  hand  on.  This  was  the  opening  line 
of  one  of  them :  "/  was  called  home  on  a  telegram.** 

"Himmeir*  declared  Geist;  "even  Schubert  could 
have  done  nothing  with  such  a  line." 

281 


THE    CHARLATANS 

They  were  chuckling  over  the  soulful  lady's  hero- 
ics when  Rhoda  Weathers  appeared. 

Rhoda's  "Good  afternoon"  was  lacking  in  warmth. 
She  walked  to  the  window  aS  she  drew  oif  her  gloves, 
expecting  Miss  Winston  to  depart. 

"Miss  Winston  is  here  for  the  same  purpose  as 
yourself,"  Geist  informed  her.  "She,  too,  is  working 
on  the  G-minor  Rhapsody." 

Rhoda  turned  her  big  eyes  wonderingly  upon  the 
other  girl. 

"Our  tastes  seem  to  be  much  alike,"  Hope  said, 
smiling. 

The  words  or  the  smile  struck  fire  in  Rhoda's  eyes, 
which  blazed  with  the  resentment  she  had  exhibited  at 
their  last  encounter.  Her  lips  moved,  but  no  words 
issued.  The  antagonism  was  unobserved  by  Geist, 
who  was  walking  about  the  room,  tuning  his  violin. 

"You  will  each  play,  and  criticize  the  other,"  he 
said. 

Rhoda's  lips  joined  tightly.  The  "difficult  child" 
appeared  uncommonly  difficult  this  afternoon,  inex- 
plicably sullen. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Hope,  turning  to  Geist,  "Miss 
Weathers  would  prefer  to  play  for  you  alone." 

"I  think  not,"  he  answered  quietly.  "Miss  Weath- 
282 


A     RHAPSODY     Xn D     A     FAREWELL 

ers  prefers  what  her  teacher  prefers.  Begin,  Miss 
Winston." 

Hope  went  obediently  to  the  piano,  and  began  the 
rhapsody. 

Geist  stopped  her  after  a  few  measures,  to  suggest 
that  she  double  the  theme  with  her  thumb ;  and  again 
to  inquire :  "Why  don't  you  accent  more  ?" 

"It  sounded  jerky  to  me,"  she  replied. 

"Jerky?  Well — ^if  you  like  that  word.  I  prefer 
accent.   Go  on." 

The  rhapsody  proceeded,  without  further  interrup- 
tion, to  its  tumultuous  close. 

Geist  turned  to  Rhoda:  "Well,  Miss  Weathers, 
what  is  your  criticism.'*" 

The  musician  in  Rhoda  answered  frankly:  "I 
thought  it  was  beautifully  played." 

"It  was  flawless,  then,"  said  Geist  ironically. 
"There  is  no  room  for  improvement." 

^'The  contrasts  might  be  more  marked." 

"Might  be?  Should  be."  He  turned  to  Hope. 
"Light  and  shade,  light  and  shade.  Miss  Winston; 
not  a  diffused  light  throughout.  Repose,  too,  is  lack- 
ing :  you  must  acquire  repose ;  and  one  hour's  expres- 
sionless practice  with  that  end  in  view  is  better  than 
pounding  away  for  hours  espressivo.    This  rhapsody 

283 


THE    CHARLATANS 

is  not  difficult  technically,  so  far  as  the  mere  getting 
over  the  keys  is  concerned;  but  it  is  difficult  to  play 
artistically,  and  you  are  some  distance  from  that.  We 
shall  take  it  up  again  next  week." 

"Thank  you,"  Hope  said  humbly,  and  gave  place 
to  Miss  Weathers. 

The  latter  proceeded  to  amaze  her  listeners ;  not  by 
the  excellence  of  her  playing,  though  this  was  of  a 
high  order,  but  by  her  strange  interpretation  of  the 
master's  music.  It  was  not  a  rhapsody  she  played, 
but  a  threnody — a  personal  narrative,  a  subjective 
tour  de  force.  It  affected  Hope  cruelly,  as  music  never 
before  had  affected  her.  She  glanced  at  Geist,  and 
saw  that  his  brow  was  contracted.  Tragedy  was  in 
the  room. 

The  performance  ended  in  a  crashing  discord  and 
a  sob  from  the  pianist.  Hope  crossed  swiftly  and  put 
an  arm  soothingly  about  Rhoda's  shoulders.  That 
was  the  only  criticism  of  the  performance. 

Geist  turned  to  the  window,  and  stood  looking  into 
the  street.  .  .  .  He  heard  a  slight  stir  behind 
him;  then  the  door  shut  softly.  He  was  alone.  The 
two  girls  had  gone  away  together. 

Half  an  hour  later  Churchill  Gray  entered  the 
studio. 

284 


A     RHAPSODY     AND     A     FAREWELL 

"I  dropped  in  to  say  good-by  for  a  while,"  he  an- 
nounced. "I'm  off  for  the  woods.  Better  hang  up 
your  fiddle  and  your  bow,  Uncle  Karl,  and  come 
along." 

"Uncle  Karl"  declined  to  consider  a  proposition  so 
unseasonable.   "When  do  you  leave.?"  he  asked. 
-     "To-night." 

"To-night?"  Geist  repeated  thoughtfully.  "Have 
a  pipe." 

"My  dear  Karl,  your  pipes  are  all  unsmokable,  and 
you  know  it." 

"Get  me  some  new  ones,  then." 

"What  would  be  the  use.?  You  would  ruin  them  in 
a  week.  I'll  warrant  your  friends  lock  up  all  their 
good  pipes  when  they  expect  a  call  from  you."    . 

"Can't  say.  Mine  is  not  a  suspicious  nature.  .  .  . 
So  you  leave  to-night.?" 

"At  ten  of  the  clock." 

"Trunk  gone.?" 

"My  pack-sacks  are  in  the  baggage  room ;  my  bark 
canoe  is  on  the  shore,  awaiting  me.  I  shall  be  gone 
three  months — perhaps  longer." 

"Wait  till  the  conservatory  year  closes,  and  I'll  go 
with  you.   You  invited  me  once." 

"The  invitation  holds  good.  I  make  an  exception  in 
285 


THE    CHARLATANS 

your  favor,  for  which  I  hope  you  are  properly  grate- 
ful. Join  me  if  you  will,  and  when  you  can.  You  will 
find  me  on  the  shore,  both  hands  stretched  in  welcome." 

Geist  took  up  his  violin  and  played  a  few  measures. 
"Recognize  that.?"  he  queried. 

"Sonata  by  one  Brahms,  D-minor — ^my  favorite." 

"I  am  going  to  play  it  with  Mrs.  Maybury  to-mor- 
row night.   Stay  and  hear  it." 

"No."  Gray  smiled.  "Not  even  to  hear  Josef  Hof- 
mann  run  a  scale.  You  see,  nothing  can  detain  me. 
The  spring  and  the  forest  are  calling :  all  other  music 
is  as  sounding  brass  or  a  tinkling  triangle." 

Geist  put  down  his  violin  and  began  to  dig  out  the 
most  promising  of  his  pipes.  "Sorry  you're  clearing 
out  so  suddenly ;  I  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  you." 

"My  time  is  yours  till  ten.  Fire  away." 

Geist  lighted  his  impossible  pipe  and  puifed  mood- 
ily at  it, 

"You  appear  uncommonly  thoughtful  to-day,  not 
to  say  gloomy,"  Gray  observed.  "What's  on  your 
mind,  Karlchen?" 

"The  beautiful  Miss  Winston — for  one  thing." 

"A  charming  incubus."  Gray,  surprised,  looked 
keenly  at  the  musician.  "Others  are  similarly  af- 
flicted," he  remarked  carelessly. 

286 


A     RHAPSODY     AND     A     FAREWELL 

Geist  hitched  his  chair  closer  to  his  friend's.  "I 
don't  Hke  the  attentions  a  certain  person  is  paying  to 
the  girl,"  he  said  earnestly. 

"I  dare  say  each  of  her  numerous  admirers  feels 
that  way  about  it." 

"Her  reputation  is  at  stake." 

"No  scandal,  I  hope." 

"There  might  be." 

"It's  a  bit  early  in  her  career  for  that.  Later  a 
scandal  or  two  would  not  be  without  advertising 
value." 

"I  am  not  deceived  by  your  pretended  cynicism." 

"Discerning  Karlchen !" 

"The  matter  is  serious,"  rejoined  Geist,  with  a  flash 
of  irritation.  "The  girl  is  as  innocent  and  unsuspi- 
cious as  a  child,  and  the  man  is  a  damned  scoundrel. 
Somebody  should  warn  her." 

"Who  but  her  guide,  philosopher  and  friend,  Karl 
Geist.?" 

The  musician  flushed.  "I  disclaim  any  such  privi- 
lege. Some  one  closer  to  her  should  speak  the  word." 
He  looked  hard  at  Gray. 

"My  dear  Karl,  you  flatter  me.  I  assure  you  I  am 
not  in  the  young  lady's  confidence.  Your  pipe  is  out, 
by  the  way." 

287 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Geist  broke  three  matches  before  he  succeeded  in 
rehghting  it. 

"The  young  lady's  frequent  references  to  you  have 
led  me  to  believe  otherwise,"  he  said.  "I  don't  know 
why  you  should  conceal  your  interest  in  her." 

"I  have  no  reason  to  conceal  my  interest  in  Miss 
Winston,"  Gray  answered  slowly.  "I  believe  she  will 
bring  much  glory  to  her  art  and  herself.  My  rela- 
tions with  her,  however,  are  too  tenuous  to  warrant 
my  setting  up  as  a  mentor  in  her  private  affairs.  Why 
don't  you  take  Arthur  West  into  your  confidence.'^ 
No  one,  I  am  sure,  is  closer  to  Miss  Winston." 

"Pshaw!  I  don't  believe  she  gives  him  a  serious 
thought.  Arthur  is  a  nice  young  chap,  but  he  is 
hardly  her  style." 

"Indeed!   I  had  been  expecting  an  announcement." 

Gray's  reserve  showed  signs  of  melting,  and  Geist, 
observing  the  change  in  his  friend's  manner,  smiled 
faintly. 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  damned  scoundrel 
aforesaid.?"  pursued  Gray. 

"Nothing — positive;  that  is  why  I  hesitate.  By 
Godlif  I  did  know     .     .     ." 

Geist  sprang  up  and  began  pacing  the  room,  an 
ugly  look  on  his  face;  at  which  Gray  marveled.     His 

288 


A     RHAPSODY  ""AND     A     FAREWELL 

friend's  interest  in  Miss  Winston  seemed  explicable  on 
one  ground  only. 

"A  fellow  feeling,"  he  remarked  dryly,  "should 
make  us  wondrous  cautious.  Suppose  you  consult 
with  Flora  Matheson.  You  or  I,  Karl,  would  make  a 
botch  of  so  delicate  a  disclosure.  Women  manage 
these  things  much  better." 

"I'll  consider  it,"  Geist  replied  shortly.  "Where 
shall  you  be  during  the  next  few  weeks  ?" 

"I  intend  to  camp  a  month  on  the  shore,  to  toughen 
my  flabby  tissues  against  a  rough  expedition  into  the 
interior." 

''^Would  a  letter  reach  you  ?^^ 

"It  might.  Send  it  to  Ledge,  care  of  Charley 
Ericsson.  I  shall  drop  you  a  line  before  the  forest 
swallows  me." 

"I  may  have  some  news  to  send  you." 

"I  warn  you  I'll  light  my  pipe  with  it.  .  .  .  By 
the  way,  here  is  a  little  something  to  remind  you  of 
my  existence."  Gray  laid  a  small  package  on  the 
table.   "And  now,  come  to  dinner  with  me." 

"Can't.  I  have  some  work  to  do.  But  I  may  show 
up  at  the  train." 

"In  case  you  don't,  I  shall  say  good-by  now." 

The  men  clasped  hands  warmly. 
289 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Good-by,  Church,"  said  Geist.  "A  joyful  summer 
to  you.  And  don't  get  too  far  away ;  leave  the  trail 
open  behind  you." 

"I  shall  scatter  breadcrumbs  along  the  way,  for  the 
birds  to  eat.  Good-by,  Karlchen,  and  Heaven  bless 
you !" 

"So  long,  old  man,"  returned  the  other  fervently. 
He  bit  through  the  stem  of  his  pipe,  and  the  bowl  fell 
to  the  floor. 

Gray  laughed,  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"Dear  old  sphinx!"  muttered  Geist;  and  picking 
up  his  violin,  he  relieved  his  feelings  with  a  page  or 
two  of  Hubay's  "Diabolical  Scherzo." 

Presently  his  eyes  fell  on  the  package  Gray  had 
left.  He  opened  it  and  drew  forth  a  beautiful  English 
brier  pipe,  with  three  extra  mouthpieces. 


290 


CHAPTER    XXIV 


IN     WHICH,    AMONG    OTHEE    THINGS,     MA- 
DAME    JESURIN     MAKES     AN     IN- 
TERESTING    DISCOVERY 

Madame  Jesurin  was  sincerely  sad  when  Hope 
Winston  departed  from  Atwood  Street.  She  had  be- 
come greatly  attached  to  the  girl,  and  had  profited 
by  the  acquaintance  in  more  ways  than  one.  So  it 
was  with  a  little  shriek  of  delight  that,  one  showery 
afternoon,  she  fell  upon  Hope  in  a  corridor  of  the 
Art  Museum.  They  had  been  separated  a  full  week. 

"What  joy,  Herzhldttchen,  to  see  you  again!"  ex- 
claimed the  Countess.  "We  have  missed  you  so !  Mrs. 
Grady  is  quite  inconsolable." 

"I  was  thinking  of  you  this  morning,"  said  Hope. 
"Two  tickets  came  for  the  Symphony  concert — the 

291 


THE    CHARLATANS 

last  of  the  season,  you  know.   Would  you  like  one  of 
them?" 

Natilrlich.  Madame  welcomed  the  opportunity  to 
spend  another  evening  with  her  young  friend,  quite 
aside  from  the  pleasure  of  listening  to  the  music. 
And  how  sad  to  think  there  would  be  no  more  concerts 
for  five  months!  How  should  they  contrive  to  exist 
without  them!  What  a  dull  world  this  would  be  but 
for  music — and  painting:  let  us  not  forget  painting. 

They  were  drifting  through  the  galleries. 

"My  favorite  picture,"  remarked  Madame,  point- 
ing out-  a  large  nude  on  the  facing  wall.  "Such 
drawing!  Such  color!  It  is  wonderful!  I  love 
Bouguereau !" 

Miss  Winston  dismissed  the  canvas  with  one  con- 
temptuous glance.  Churchill  Gray  had  remarked  of  it : 
"It  is  anatomy,  not  art.  I  always  feel  ashamed  when  I 
see  that  picture." 

Hope  recalled  pensively  the  afternoon  (how  long 
ago  it  seemed ! )  when  Gray  walked  with  her  through 
the  Museum.  Absorption,  he  told  her,  was  the  best 
way  to  study  a  picture,  and  he  indicated  the  canvases 
best  worth  absorbing,  in  his  opinion.  "Memorize  a  few 
of  the  great  ones,"  he  said,  "and  you  will  have  a  cri- 
terion by  which  to  determine  false  and  true." 

292 


A     DISCOVERY 

She  drew  Madame  Jesurin's  attention  to  a  land- 
scape by  Daubigny. 

''That  is  Mr.  Gray's  favorite  picture,"  she  re- 
marked, with  a  touch  of  pride  in  her  voice. 

"Grand!"  exclaimed  the  Countess,  peering  at  the 
name-plate.  "I  love  Daubigny.  He  is  one  of  the  Bar- 
bican school." 

"I  have  looked  at  that  picture  so  long  and  so  often, 
that  I  can  shut  my  eyes  and  bring  back  every  bit  of 
it,"  said  Hope  dreamily. 

"Mr.  Gray  is  a  charming  gentleman,"  Madame  de- 
clared pointedly.  Miss  Winston  turned  away  to  ad- 
mire another  picture. 

They  moved  along,  from  gallery  to  gallery,  and 
Hope  was  much  impressed  by  the  sum  and  variety  of 
Madame's  art  information.  It  was  a  grab-bag  in- 
formation :  one  never  could  say  what  she  would  fish  up 
next.  For  example,  she  paused  to  admire  a  copy  of  "a 
sweet  Corelli." 

"Oh,  does  Corelli  painty  too.?"  Hope  inquired  in- 
nocently. 

"0  du  mein  Gott!  a  tongue  slip!"  cried  Madame, 
laughing.   "I  should  have  said  Correggio." 

Hope  remarked  that  the  slip  was  quite  natural: 
both  names  began  with  a  C. 

293 


THE    CHARLATANS 

They  separated,  agreeing  to  meet  again,  at  eight 
o'clock,  in  the  vestibule  of  Music  Hall ;  and  Hope  pro- 
ceeded to  the  conservatory,  for  her  last  "lesson"  in 
the  Studio  of  the  Soul. 

Of  all  the  musical  pretenders  with  whom  she  had 
been  brought  in  contact  she  liked  best  Jan  Van  Wart. 
Others  were  pompously  assertive,  irritatingly  dull, 
complacently  incompetent;  Van  Wart  was  a  joy. 
Whether  justly  or  not,  she  gave  him  credit  for  tak- 
ing himself,  at  bottom,  unseriously;  so  when  she 
laughed  at  his  impersonations  of  the  music  masters, 
she  felt  that  she  was  laughing  with  him,  and  not  at 
him. 

She  considered  his  Chopin  impersonation  the  best 
fun.  As  Richard  Wagner,  he  was  apt  to  be  tedious, 
with  his  disquisitions  on  politics  and  philosophy. 
When  he  counterfeited  Beethoven  his  deafness  and 
short  temper  precluded  any  sort  of  conversation.  On 
Liszt  days  he  was  given  to  taking  the  student's  hand 
and  speaking  whole  volumes  in  folio  with  his  eyes; 
though  it  was  only  fair  to  say  that  he  never  carried 
the  role  of  the  susceptible  Abbe  beyond  certain  limits 
of  discretion. 

One  easily  guessed  the  present  day's  impersonation : 
the  cloudy  sky,  the  intermittent  downpour,  presaged 

294 


DISCOVERY 


the  melancholy  Pole.  Thus,  when  Hope  entered  the 
Studio  of  the  Soul,  Van  Wart  was  gazing  pensively 
at  a  small  portrait  of  George  Sand,  and  the  air  of  the 
dimly-lighted  room  was  murmurous  with  his  sighs. 
The  rain  plashed  rhythmically  against  the  window- 
pane,  "tears  of  Heaven  falling  on  his  heart." 

He  was  recalling,  one  surmised,  that  dismal,  stormy 
night  on  the  Island  of  Majorka.  Greorge  and  Maurice 
had  gone  to  Palma,  to  purchase  such  prosaic  but 
necessary  things  as  butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of 
cheese;  and  thinking  of  the  dangers  that  environed 
them,  Chopin  was  reduced  to  a  state  of  numb  despair. 
At  sight  of  Hope,  Van  Wart  exclaimed,  with  a  wan- 
dering air  and  in  a  strange  voice:  "Ah,  I  was  sure 
that  you  were  dead!"  She  made  no  reply,  but  sat 
down  quietly  at  the  piano  and  played  the  "Raindrop" 
prelude  in  D-flat,  while  the  reembodied  Chopin,  in  the 
depths  of  his  easy  chair,  wept  silently. 

As  the  prelude  drew  to  its  close,  the  rain  ceased 
beating  on  the  pane,  and  when  the  last  note  died  away 
in  the  soulful  silence  the  sun  broke  through  the  clouds 
and  dispelled  the  studio's  gloom.  The  effect  on  Van 
Wart  was  instant :  his  depression  vanished ;  he  bounced 
up  like  a  rubber  ball,  his  round  face  wreathed  in 
smiles. 

295 


THE    CHARLATANS 

*'You  played  that  prelude  beautifully !"  he  cried,  in 
genuine  appreciation.  "Don't  run  away,"  he  added, 
as  she  reached  for  her  music-roll;  "no  more  students 
will  be  in  to-day.  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  Take  this  big 
chair." 

She  accepted  it,  and  Van  Wart,  receiving  permis- 
sion, lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Well,  the  musical  jig  is  up,  for  a  few  blessed 
months,"  he  remarked.  "Aren't  you  glad.f^" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Hope.  "I  dare  say  a  rest  will 
do  me  good." 

"You  will  be  coming  back  in  the  fall,  I  suppose  .f^" 
he  inquired. 

"I  hope  I  may  be  able  to.   I  am  not  sure." 

"It  would  be  a  great  pity  if  you  dropped  out,  as 
so  many  of  them  do,"  Van  Wart  said  seriously.  "I 
have  watched  your  progress  with  a  great  deal  of  in- 
terest. You  have  made  remarkable  strides.  I  have 
always  enjoyed  your  recitations,  and  that  is  saying  a 
great  deal." 

She  replied  that  higher  praise  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pected, and  they  chatted  half  an  hour  or  more.  Van 
Wart  had  a  fund  of  musical  stories,  and  he  told  them 
well.  He  could  talk,  also,  on  other  things  than  music : 
he  was  very  fond  of  Matthew  Arnold;  he  was  in- 

296 


A    DISCOVERY 

tensely  interested*  in  Arctic  exploration;  his  hobby 
was  trout  fishing,  and  he  tied  his  own  flies.  Jan  Van 
Wart,  when  he  chose  to  be  himself,  was  excellent  com- 
pany. Miss  Winston's  "I  hope  I  shall  see  you  again, 
Professor,"  was  said  in  all  sincerity. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  when  she  left  the  con- 
servatory, and  as  she  had  some  shopping  to  do,  and 
dinner  to  dispose  of,  she  was  a  quarter-hour  late  in 
joining  Madame  Jesurin  in  Music  Hall. 

"Fortunately  we  have  our  seats  and  can  go  right  to 
them,"  said  Hope,  as  she  slipped  in  just  before  the 
inner  doors  were  closed. 

People  who  held  regular  seats  for  the  Symphony 
series  did  not  trouble  the  ushers  to  indicate  them.  As 
Miss  Winston  was  practically  a  season-ticket  holder, 
she  waved  the  attache  aside,  as  usual,  and  tripped 
down  the  aisle,  followed  by  Madame  Jesurin.  To  her 
surprise,  J  89  and  90  were  already  taken. 

She  looked  so  hard  at  the  interlopers,  a  lady  and 
gentleman,  that  the  gentleman  referred  to  his  seat 
checks  for  assurance  that  he  was  not  in  error.  Hope, 
for  her  part,  glanced  at  the  bits  of  pasteboard  in  her 
hand,  and  discovered  that  they  represented  parquet 
chairs  N  61  and  62.  She  retreated  in  confusion,  fol- 
lowed by  the  amused  glance  of  the  occupant  of  J  89. 

297 


THE    CHARLATANS 

The  new  seats  were  as  good  as  the  old ;  but  why  the 
change? 

"It  Is  certain  they  are  regular  seats,"  said  the 
Countess. 

"Or  were  until  to-night,"  amended  Hope. 

To  herself  Madame  remarked:  "I  will  solve  the 
mystery  during  intermission."  But  she  said  nothing 
to  her  young  friend  about  her  plan ;  she  was  not  sure 
Miss  Winston  would  approve  it. 

The  concert  began,  and  Hope  gave  strict  attention. 
It  was  the  last  of  the  series,  and  might  be  the  last  she 
should  hear  for  years ;  the  reflection  made  every  note 
precious.  And  it  was  such  a  programme  as  she  wished 
to  remember :  a  Bach  suite,  a  Handel  aria,  Beethoven's 
Sixth  Symphony,  the  final  scene  from  "Gotterdam- 
merung,"  two  arias  from  "Die  Meistersinger"  and  the 
Prelude  to  that  incomparable  opera. 

How  brief  the  Symphony  seemed !  Regretfully  she 
heard  each  movement  draw  to  a  close.  .  .  .  And 
now  more  than  half  of  the  programme  was  done ;  there 
remained  only  the  Wagner  numbers. 

Madame  Jesurin  rose  for  the  intermission  before 
Herr  Herschel  left  the  stage,  and,  remarking  that  she 
wished  to  see  a  friend  on  very  Important  business,  she 
hurried  away.     Hope,  quite  willing  to  be  left  alone, 

298 


A    DISCOVERY 

followed  slowly  to  the  foyer.  Here  the  first  familiar 
faces  she  saw  were  those  of  Miss  Matheson  and  Karl 
Geist,  and  she  halted  to  observe  Flora,  as  more  than 
one  person  was  doing. 

Always  good  to  look  upon,  Miss  Matheson,  fetch- 
ingly  gowned  in  green,  was  to-night  more  superb  than 
ever  before;  and  she  seemed  redundantly  happy. 
Geist,  too,  was  in  high  spirits,  and  the  pair  were 
laughing  merrily  over  some  remark  of  the  musician's. 
It  was  he  who  first  glimpsed  Miss  Winston,  and  he 
waved  a  hand  of  recognition.  Flora  did  more:  she 
hastened  to  Hope,  and  put  an  arm  about  her  waist. 

"Congratulate  me,  dearie,"  she  whispered,  and  held 
up  her  left  hand.  A  diamond  glittered  on  the  en- 
gagement finger. 

"I  do,  I  do.  Flora,  dear!"  said  Hope,  her  heart  in 
her  voice.    "You  deserve  a  world  of  happiness." 

"No  more  than  some  one  else  I  know,"  replied  Flora 
archly. 

"I  am  glad,  truly  glad,  for  him,"  Hope  whispered. 
"You — you  are  looking  very  beautiful  to-night.  Flora 
— and  very  happy." 

"Come  and  see  me  to-morrow  morning,  and  hear 
the  details.  I  must  run  along  now."  With  a  parting 
squeeze  of  affection  she  went  her  radiant  way. 

299 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Madame  Jesurin  was  waiting  to  pounce  upon  Hope, 
and  did  so  the  instant  Flora  left  her. 

"Schdtzchen!  Schdtzchen!"  she  cried,  her  eyes 
snapping  with  excitement,  ^^nun  ist  alles  Mar:  your 
good  fairy  is  Mr.  Gray !" 

This  disclosure,  so  swiftly  following  Flora's,  threw 
"Schdtzchen'*  into  cruel  bewilderment. 

"I — I  don't  understand,"  she  said,  passing  a  hand 
over  her  eyes. 

Madame  was  bursting  with  the  explanation. 

"The  seats  are  Post  seats.  They  go  each  week  to 
Mr.  Gray." 

"But  I — who — ^how  do  you  know.?" 

"I  asked  the  man  in  the  box  office." 

"How  could  you !"  exclaimed  Hope,  amazed  at  the 
audacity. 

*'Achy  I  did  not  ask  him  directly,  but  invented  a 
story  about  the  seats,  and  so  found  out." 

Madame  was  gleeful  over  her  own  cleverness,  but 
as  her  young  friend  did  not  share  her  delight,  she 
added  soberly:  "I  thought,  Liebchen,  you  wished  to 
know." 

"Why,  yes  ...  I  wished  to  know,"  repeated 
Hope,  still  bewildered.  And  now  that  she  knew,  she 
wished  Madame  Jesurin  a  thousand  miles  away. 

aoo 


A     D  I  St:  O  VERY 

They  went  back  to  their  seats,  but  Hope  heard  the 
music  as  in  a  dream;  her  mind  was  a  woeful  tangle. 
Little  by  little  she  unraveled  the  snarl  of  her  thoughts, 
and  drew  a  few  threads  clear. 

Thread  One:  The  Symphony  Orchestra  gave  two 
concerts  weekly.  The  first  of  these  Churchill  Gray 
attended,  perforce,  in  a  critical  capacity;  on  Satur- 
day night  he  attended  for  pleasure,  or  remained 
away.  If  he  came,  he  retained  one  of  his  tickets,  and 
perhaps  exchanged  it  for  a  seat  in  some  other  part  of 
the  hall ;  possibly,  if  the  house  were  full,  he  stood  up. 
If  he  spent  the  evening  elsewhere.  Miss  Winston  re- 
ceived two  tickets.  He  had  been  unable,  for  some  rea- 
son, to  send  the  regular  seats  for  the  last  concert,  but 
had  provided  two  others. 

Thread  Two:  The  picture  of  Brahms  had  also 
come  from  Gray ;  likewise  a  number  of  books  on  music 
and  musicians,  reviews  of  which  she  had  observed  in 
the  Post,  Gray  had  taken  pains  to  keep  his  benefac- 
tions a  secret,  but  he  had  not  reckoned  on  Madame 
Amelia  Jesurin. 

Thread  Three:  Gray  was  going  to  marry  Flora 
Matheson,  and  Hope  Winston  was  the  most  sadly  glad 
and  the  most  miserably  gay  young  woman  in  all  the 
world.    What  music  could  better  match  her  mood  than 

-801 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Siegfried's  "Funeral  March"  and  Walther's  "Song  of 
Spring." 

O  happy,  happy  Flora!  Do  you  realize  the  full 
measure  of  your  great  good  fortune?  Are  you  (I 
should  be  the  last  to  question  it,  for  I  love  you  truly, 
Flora,  dear) — are  you  quite  worthy  of  the  love  of 
Churchill  Gray,  dearest  and  sweetest  of  men,  Prince 
of  the  Heart  of  Gold?  Pray  that  you  are  and  ever 
shall  be ;  and  I  wish  you  both  a  world  of  joy. 

"Come  and  see  me  to-morrow  morning  and  hear  the 
details.^'  Oh,  no,  no ;  that  would  be  torture !  If  Flora 
knew,  if  Flora  only  knew !  But  Flora,  happily,  knows 
nothing  about  it.  No ;  the  details  will  keep,  preserved 
in  their  own  sugar. 

Karl  Geist  overtook  Miss  fWinston  at  the  street 
comer. 

"Are  you  walking  home?"  he  inquired;  and  as  she 
was,  he  gave  himself  the  pleasure  of  joining  her. 

"I  suppose  Flora  told  you  the  joyful  news,"  he  re- 
marked casually. 

"Yes.'' 

"Were  you  surprised  ?" 

"Oh,  no ;  they  have  known  each  other  a  long  time." 

"So?  I  gathered  from  Jones  that  the  acquaintance 
was  comparatively  recent." 

302 


A    DISCOVERY 

"Flora  IS  better  authority,  don't  you  think?"  ven- 
tured Hope. 

"Well,  perhaps  so.  Good  enough,  at  all  events.  It 
may  be  that  Jones  wished  to  convey  the  idea  of  a 
quick  conquest.  ,  .  ,  Well,  they  are  nicely 
matched,  and — 

"  'Noch  ist  die  schone,  die  hluhende  Zeit, 
Noch  sind  die  Tage  der  Rosen''  " — 

Geist  sang  softly. 

tlope  made  no  comment.  Stanley  Arthur  Jones  in- 
terested her  less  than  ever.  Flora  had  flirted  with  him 
madly ;  possibly  there  was  method  in  it. 

"I  did  not  see  Mr.  Gray  at  the  concert." 

"Gray.?"  Geist  gave  her  a  curious  side-glance. 
"Gray  left  for  the  woods  last  night." 

Gone !  and  she  might  never  see  him  again ! 

"I  was  telling  Flora  a  good  joke  on  our  friend 
West,"  said  Geist,  after  a  short  silence.  "Arthur  was 
complaining  to  Victor  Mabbitt  that  he  seemed  to  sing 
worse  instead  of  better,  wasn't  any  nearer  the  right 
method  than  ever.  'Oh,  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,'  said 
Mabbitt.  Arthur  took  him  literally,  and  is  now  trying 
the  stiff  upper  lip  method.  Victor  says  his  contor- 
tions are  worth  watching." 

303 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Poor  Arthur!"  murmured  Hope,  echoing  Geist's 
kugh  faintly.  "Can't  something  be  done  about  his 
voice?" 

"Himmel!  He  ought  to  take  it  to  a  sanatorium  and 
give  it  about  twenty  years'  rest." 

"Is  it  utterly  spoiled,  do  you  think?" 

"It  ought  to  be.  He  has  been  in  the  hands  of  the 
charlatans  long  enough  to  ruin  a  much  better  voice 
than  he  began  with." 

"Curious !  He  is  quick  enough  to  see  through  other 
pretenders." 

"Each  of  us  is  blind  to  his  own  particular  weak- 
ness, or  shuts  his  eyes  against  it." 

"Poor  Arthur!"  said  Hope  again.  "He  is  a  dear 
boy.     .     .     .     This  is  my  new  home." 

Geist  glanced  casually  at  the  shabby  brownstone. 

"Oh,  yes." 

"Thank  you  for  your  company.  Good  night." 

^'Auf  wiedersehen." 

Geist  moved  along,  lighting  the  brier  remembrance 
which  Churchill  Gray  had  given  him. 


304. 


CHAPTER     XXV 


THE     HAPPINESS     OF    A     CERTAIN     YOUNG 

GENTLEMAN     IS     SERIOUSLY 

CONSIDERED 

Have  you  ever,  by  any  chance,  beloved  reader, 
striven  to  persuade  yourself  that  you  loved  a  member 
of  the  opposite  sex? 

Let  us  say  you  have  inspired  in  him  the  tenderest 
of  passions,  and  that  he  loves  you  devotedly:  he  has 
told  you  so;  you  know  it  must  be  true.  He  deserves 
to  be  loved  in  return;  and  if  only  you  can  convince 
yourself  that  you  do  love  hini,  a  great  many  difficul- 
ties will  be  smoothed  away,  and  you  will  be  able  to  do, 
with  a  tranquil  conscience,  what  seems  the  right,  the 
inevitable  thing. 

Well,  first  you  throw  on  memory's  magic-lantern 
screen  the  face  and  form  of  Him  That  Should  Be 

305 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Loved,  at  the  moment  when  he  seemed  most  worthy. 
This  is  difficult,  as  the  lantern  lights  the  picture  ill, 
and  intermittently. 

I  have  often  closed  my  eyes  and  tried  to  bring  back 
a  favorite  river  vista.  Flash! — a  canon  wall  and  a 
swirl  of  creamy  waters  in  a  pool;  an  instant  later  it 
is  gone.  Flash! — the  other  wall  of  the  canon,  a 
fallen,  bark-stripped  cedar  lying  alongside,  its  butt 
anchored  against  a  boulder.  Flash! — the  brown  river 
above  the  fall,  a  tall  pine  on  the  brink  of  the  gorge, 
the  blue  sky.  But  try  as  I  will,  I  can  not  visualize  the 
entire  picture,  nor  hold  one  fragment  while  I  patch 
another  to  it. 

So  with  the  face  and  form  of  Him  That  Should  Be 
Loved.  The  magic  lantern  works  poorly.  But  you 
catch,  now  a  cluster  of  Hyperion  curls,  now  a  pair  of 
honest  blue  eyes,  and  now  a  winning  mouth ;  and  sup- 
plementing these  details  with  remembrance  of  a  spoken 
word,  a  joyous  laugh,  you  are  in  the  proper  mood  to 
consider  the  important  question:  "Do  I  love  him.?" 

Let  us  see. 

You  take  pleasure  in  his  society ;  you  can  not  recall 
a  single  occasion  when  you  wished  him  elsewhere,  or 
would  cut  short  a  tete-a-tete  by  the  fraction  of  a  min- 
ute.   You  have  walked  with  him,  talked  with  him,  and 

306 


HAPTPINESS 

found  him  ever  an  agreeable  companion;  he  wears 
well,  in  a  word.  And  you  feel  he  will  change  but  little 
with  the  years,  and  that  little  for  the  better. 

His  tastes  are  yours  in  many  matters ;  where  he  can 
not  sympathize  he  is  sympathetically  tolerant.  Say 
he  will  not  stimulate,  inspire  you :  how  many  husbands 
do  inspire  and  stimulate  their  wives? — it  is  usually 
the  other  way  about.  Say  he  will  not  "understand" : 
how  many  husbands  understand? 

True,  the  touch  of  his  hand  does  not  thrill ;  you  do 
not  wake  in  the  night  with  his  name  on  your  lips,  and 
stretch  your  arms  into  the  dark,  to  bring  them  back, 
empty,  with  a  sigh;  you  do  not  hunger  for  his  lips, 
his  eyes,  his  hair. 

Are  these  the  manifestations  of  love?  Must  one 
thrill  and  hunger?  There  seems  to  be  a  consensus  of 
opinion  affirmative. 

The  next  question  is :  "If  I  do  not  love  him,  can  I 
learn  to  love  him?"  This  opens  up  a  wider,  mistier 
field;  but  certain  things  are  clear  enough.  He  That 
Should  Be  Loved  is  young,  sufficiently  good-looking, 
and  more  than  sufficiently  rich.  You  have,  we  will  say, 
chosen  music  as  your  art,  and  feel  that,  given  the  op- 
portunity, you  can  become  one  of  the  few  great  pian- 
ists of  the  age.   Well,  you  have  only  to  say  the  woi*d 

307 


THE    CHARLATANS 

(there  are  but  three  letters  in  it),  and  riches  will  be 
poured  into  your  lap.  You  may  study  where  you  will 
— in  Paris,  Vienna,  Berlin,  New  York;  it  is  all  one 
to  the  happy  youth  who  idolizes  you. 

Nor  does  he  ask  immediate  possession;  you  may 
retain  your  liberty  of  soul  and  body  as  long  as  you  see 
fit,  with  the  priceless  privilege  of  changing  your 
mind:  the  riches  you  have  taken  may  then  be  con- 
strued as  a  loan,  to  be  repaid  when  the  horn  of  plenty 
tilts  in  your  direction.  You  see,  you  have  everything 
to  gain  and  nothing  to  lose. 

Whatever  your  answer  may  be,  remember,  always, 
that  no  one  can  possibly  love  you  more,  no  one  can 
desire  your  happiness  more  keenly,  than  he  who  has 
the  honor  to  subscribe  himself  your  sincere  friend  and 
well-wisher.     ... 

Hope  sat  a  long  time  with  Arthur's  letter  in  her 
hand.   It  had  come  at  a  critical  time  in  her  affairs. 

The  music  year  was  at  its  close,  and  recent  advices 
from  home  made  it  absolutely  certain  that  no  more 
funds  would  be  forthcoming  for  her  musical  educa- 
tion ;  Farmer  Winston  had  no  more  to  give. 

Eight  months  ago,  when  ignorance  was  bliss,  a 
music  year  seemed  a  sufficient  time  in  which  to  be- 

308 


HAPPINESS 

come  a  concert  pianist;  now  Hope  realized  that  one 
year  was  but  the  merest  preparation ;  that,  swiftly  as 
she  had  progressed,  the  goal  was  still  far  distant. 
She  had  realized  this  for  some  weeks  past,  dreading 
the  day  when  the  question  of  her  future  must  be  faced 
and  answered. 

The  question  of  tuition  fees  was  the  lightest  of  her 
perplexities.  She  might  continue  another  year  on  the 
same  easy  terms;  indeed,  tuition  expenses  might  be 
eliminated,  if  she  wished;  Doctor  Erdmann  had  inti- 
mated as  much.   "In  the  cause  of  Art     .     .     ." 

But  how,  meanwhile,  to  live?  There  lay  the  prob- 
lem. 

She  thought  of  supporting  herself  by  some  light 
employment  which  would  allow  her  sufficient  time  to 
pursue  her  studies.  But  what  could  she  do.?  Of  of- 
fice work  she  was  ignorant,  and  a  glance  over  the 
"Help  Wanted"  column  of  the  daily  paper  suggested 
nothing  else  except  domestic  service.  Teach  music? 
she  smiled  at  the  thought.  To  be  sure,  she  was  better 
qualified  than  half  the  teachers  of  music  in  the  United 
States ;  but  she  was  altogether  incapable  of  their  ef- 
frontery ;  an  even  stronger  deterrent  was  her  sense  of 
humor. 

Domestic  service  was  all  that  offered,  and  that  was 
309 


THE    CHARLATANS 

scarcely  practicable.  She  was  not  afraid  of  the  jump 
from  Mrs.  Addison  West's  drawing-room  to  Mrs.  Dil- 
day's  backstairs;  but  would  Mrs.  Dilday  permit  her 
to  use  the  piano  (provided  Mrs.  Dilday  had  one), 
and  to  practise  four  hours  a  day  ?    Pshaw ! 

The  present  problem  was  too  large  to  refer  to  Doc- 
tor Erdmann,  or  even  to  Mrs.  Maybury.  An  oifer  of 
assistance,  she  reasoned,  would  be  out-and-out  char- 
ity, rather  than  accept  which  she  would  go  back  to  the 
provinces  and  teach ;  that,  with  all  its  dreariness,  was 
one  degree  less  distasteful. 

After  all,  the  alternative  of  packing  her  trunk  and 
returning  to  Swiftwater  was  to  reply  "Yes"  to  the 
letter  in  her  hand. 

She  read  it  through  again. 

No;  she  could  not  convince  herself  that  she  loved 
Arthur.  She  did  not  love  anybody — now ;  for  one  can 
not  love  a  gentleman  who  has  engaged  himself  to 
marry  one's  friend.  The  secondary  question.  Could 
she  grow  to  love  Arthur.?  remained  open. 

Of  course  it  was  not  impossible,  she  told  herself. 
Arthur  would  have  to  wait  a  few  years,  as  he  was  pre- 
pared to  wait ;  there  would  not  be  room  in  her  thoughts 
for  two  passions.  But  when  she  came  into  her  ar- 
tistic own,  there  would  be  leisure  to  cultivate  a  genuine 

310 


HAPPINESS 

affection,  which  was  the  enduring  basis  of  all  matri- 
monial relations. 

In  such  circumstances,  they  would  be  happy,  in  a 
subdued  way.  To  the  mind-picture  of  her  triumphs  on 
the  concert  stage,  she  added  a  young  man  waiting, 
behind  scenes,  to  drape  an  opera  cloak  about  her 
shoulders,  and  whisper  a  word  of  praise  more  welcome 
even  than  the  intoxicating  plaudits  of  the  audience  at 
large. 

Great  as  her  debt  to  Arthur  would  be,  she  would 
nevertheless  be  independent  in  a  money  way ;  and  out 
of  her  own  earnings  she  would  repay  her  parents,  a 
hundredfold,  all  they  had  spent  on  her.  The  Wins- 
ton acres  should  be  augmented  indefinitely;  the  little 
mother  should  no  longer  "overdo,"  and  the  little  sister 
should  adventure  into  the  great  wide  world  on  her  own 
account,  and  learn  wherein  it  differed  from  the  world 
of  faery. 

A  pleasant  vision,  but  it  required  a  base.  What  if, 
after  all,  affection  for  Arthur  should  be  lacking? 
The  vision  faded. 

She  did  not  consider  herself;  she  did  not  tremble 
for  her  own  peace  of  mind,  nor  view  with  abhorrence 
a  prospect  of  living  in  wedlock  with  a  man  for  whom 
she  felt  only  esteem.    A  little  later  she  was  to  regard 

Sll 


THE    CHARLATANS 

the  question  from  the  viewpoint  of  her  own  salvation : 
to-day  the  young  man's  happiness  was  her  chief  con- 
cern. 

Suddenly  flashed  through  her  mind  the  deliberately- 
voiced  advice  of  Churchill  Gray:  "Sacrifice  your 
friends  to  your  art." 

Ought  she  to  sacrifice  Arthur?  Her  sympathetic 
Httle  heart  rebelled.  Since,  in  his  blind  adoration, 
Arthur  would  be  manifestly  incapable  of  regarding 
the  immolation  with  a  rational  eye,  was  it  not  her  duty 
to  protect  him  against  himself.? 

Still,  did  she  not  owe  a  larger  duty  to  Music?  "In 
the  cause  of  Art,"  what  was  one  Arthur  more  or  less  ? 
A  thousand  lovers  might  be  happy  or  miserable — it 
was  all  one  to  Art.  Art  must  be  selfish:  those  were 
Gray's  words.  She  recalled  a  fragment  of  their  con- 
versation : 

"Is  that  not  dangerous  advice.?" 

"If  the  person  to  whom  it  is  given  be  not  a  genius 
— yes." 

"Why  the  distinction?" 

"Because  Music  would  gain  nothing  by  the  sacri- 
fice." 

Ah !  Was  she  a  genius  ?  It  would  be  wise  to  make 
sure  before  further  debating  the  question  of  immolat- 

312 


HAPJ^INESS 

ing  Arthur  West.  But  how  is  one  to  find  out?  Small 
use  to  ask  one's  friends;  they  return  an  enthusiastic 
affirmative.  As  little  profit  to  ask  one's  self :  so  many 
of  us  have  been  mistaken;  it  is  impossible  wholly  to 
eliminate  personal  prejudice. 

She  knew  she  had  great  talent;  there  needed  no 
ghost,  come  from  the  spirit  world  where  dwelt  the  de- 
parted masters,  to  tell  her  that.  But  did  she  possess 
transcendent  Genius?  Only  to  such  would  she  sacri- 
fice her  meanest  friend.  She  required  the  verdict  of  a 
competent,  unprejudiced  judge;  and  it  came  to  her 
that  she  should  find  such  a  judge  in  Madame  Therese 
Friedenthal.  Madame  would  not  even  remember  set- 
ting eyes  on  her.  She  would,  when  informed  that  the 
matter  was  important,  hear  her  play,  and  would  tell 
her  frankly  what  she  wished  to  know. 

Hope  folded  Arthur's  letter  and  kissed  it,  murmur- 
ing "Dear  boy!"  Then  she  donned  her  wraps,  and 
set  out  for  the  west  side  of  the  city. 


313 


CHAPTER     XXVI 

THE     HAPPINESS     OF    A    CERTAIN     YOUNG 
GENTLEMAN     IS     APPARENTLY     DECIDED 


A  middle-aged  woman  answered  the  bell. 

"I  wish  to  see  Madame  Friedenthal,"  said  the  vis- 
itor. 

"Have  you  an  appointment?" 

"No.  But  I  am  very  anxious  to  see  Madame  at 
once,  if  she  is  at  home.   The  matter  is  important." 

"Is  it  about  lessons.?" 

"Not  exactly ;  though  later  I  may  wish  to  study." 

"Madame  is  to  be  seen  only  by  appointment,"  said 
the  guardian  of  the  door. 

Hope  stepped  into  the  hall. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  serenely,  although  surprised 
S14« 


APPARENTLY     DECIDED 


by  her  own  audacity.  "Please  ask  Madame  whether 
she  will  make  an  appointment  with  Miss  Winston  for 
this  afternoon." 

The  woman  opposed  a  natural  imperturbation  to 
Hope's  assumed  placidity. 

"Appointments  are  made  by  letter,"  she  returned. 

"Madame  is  coming  down  the  stairs,"  said  Hope. 
"Will  you  ask  her — or  shall  I.?" 

Madame  Friedenthal  by  this  time  had  reached  the 
hall,  and  came  forward. 

"Who  is  it.f^"  she  queried  sharply,  and  looked  peer- 
ingly  at  the  determined  visitor. 

"Miss  Winston,"  Hope  replied  nervously.  "You 
do  not  remember  me     ..." 

"Yes :  you  were  at  the  concert." 

She  did  remember,  it  appeared;  and  she  held  out 
her  hand.  Madame  was  in  an  amiable  mood.  That 
was  auspicious. 

"I  hope  you  will  pardon  my  coming  without  an 
appointment,"  Hope  apologized;  "but  I  felt  I  must 
see  you  to-day." 

She  was  requested  to  step  into  the  music-room,  and 
wait  briefly  while  Madame  attended  to  some  domestic 
matter. 

The  house  was  old-fashioned,  and  the  music-room 
315 


THE    CHARLATANS 

consisted  of  two  parlors  thrown  into  one.  In  the  sec- 
ond of  these  were  two  grand  pianos,  placed  side  by 
side,  and  above  them  a  large  portrait  of  Beethoven. 
A  few  good  oil  paintings  decked  the  walls,  with  a 
considerable  number  of  autographed  photographs  of 
the  world's  renowned,  and  half  a  dozen  faded  laurel 
wreaths,  eloquent  of  triumphs  past.  Here  Hope  tar- 
ried, in  a  growing  trepidation,  wondering  how  she 
should  formulate  the  question  she  had  come  to  ask. 
By  the  time  Madame  Friedenthal  returned  the  open- 
ing sentence  was  decided  on. 

"I  am  studying  music,"  said  Hope,  after  the  pre- 
liminary pleasantries,  "and  I  wish  to  find  out  whether 
it  is  worth  while  for  me  to  continue." 

Madame  Friedenthal  was  politely  interested.  Pos- 
sibly she  had  heard  something  of  the  sort  before. 

"I  mean,"  continued  Hope,  realizing  that  she  had 
only  partly  stated  the  matter,  "my  future  depends  on 
my  knowing,  now,  whether  I  have  genius  or  only 
talent." 

"So?"  Madame  smiled.  "The  assurance  of  your 
friends  does  not  satisfy  you.?" 

"No.  I  must  learn  it  from  some  one  who  can  speak 
with  authority  and  without  prejudice;  so  I  have  come 
to  you,  Madame  Friedenthal." 

316 


APPARENTJfcY     DECIDED 

"Do  you  wish  to  study  with  me?"  asked  Madame. 
"If  I  have  genius." 

"Talent  would  not  be  enough?"  Madame's  eyes 
twinkled. 

"It  would  satisfy  me — yes ;  for  then  I  should  know 
that  nothing  higher  was  attainable." 

Madame  Friedenthal  was  slightly  puzzled.  She 
was  not  expected  to  know  that  the  happiness  of  a 
young  man  hung  in  the  balance  between  talent  and 
genius. 

"I  do  not  demand  genius  of  a  student,"  she  said; 
"if  I  did  I  should  have  very  few  pupils.  Do  you 
think  of  teaching?" 

"No;  at  least  not  until  I  have  learned  all  there  is 
to  know." 

"Then  you  will  never  teach." 

Both  smiled. 

"My  situation  is  this,"  said  Hope,  more  at  her 
ease :  "I  have  gone  so  far  in  my  studies,  and  have  no 
more  money  of  my  own  to  continue.  Assistance  has 
been  offered  me,  but  this  I  can  not  accept  unless  I  am 
satisfied  I  can  become  a  great  pianist." 

Madame  nodded.  The  matter  was  a  little  clearer. 
"Tell  me  what  you  have  done,"  she  said  kindly. 

Hope  told  her — everything  the  reader  already 
817 


THE    CHARLATANS 

knows,  and  a  great  deal  besides,  which  the  biographer 
has  deemed  it  wise  to  pass  over,  unwilling  to  trespass 
on  the  reader's  good  nature.  She  mentioned  her  pre- 
dilection for  Johannes  Brahms,  and  a  corresponding 
disinclination  for  Frederic  Chopin;  whereat  Madame 
Friedenthal  raised  her  black  eyebrows  a  trifle. 

"Not  even  genius  is  permitted  such  prejudices," 
she  said.  "The  musical  world  has  passed  judgment 
on  the  masters,  and  we  must  accept  them — all.  One 
composer  may  appeal  to  you  more  than  another,  but 
you  can  not,  as  an  artist,  cultivate  aversions.  The 
true  musician  does  not  ask,  'Who  wrote  it?'  but,  'Is 
it  good?' "   She  rose.  "I  will  hear  you  play." 

Face  to  face  with  the  keyboard  and  the  crucial  test, 
Hope's  small  stock  of  assurance  dwindled  to  nothing- 
ness; her  limbs  trembled,  and  her  teeth  might  have 
chattered  if  they  had  not  been  shut  so  tightly.  Ma- 
dame Friedenthal,  who  had  drawn  a  chair  beside  her, 
looked  so  stem  and  unsympathetic;  her  expression 
seemed  to  say:  "You  have  invited  this  test;  acquit 
yourself  well,  or  woe  be  unto  you." 

"Shall  I  play  some  Bach?"  asked  Hope,  and  won- 
dered whether  she  was  heard.  Madame  nodded  yes, 
and  settled  herself  to  listen. 

Poor  Hope!  Her  hands  were  numb  with  nervous- 
318 


apparen'Tly   decided 

ness.  The  opening  measure  was  a  blur.  She  stopped, 
and  rubbed  her  fingers  smartly. 

"Try  it  again,"  Madame  said  encouragingly. 

Then  Hope  disclosed  the  stuff  of  which  concert 
heroines  are  made.  Drawing  a  deep  breath  of  "Maz- 
daznan,"  she  struck  with  decision  the  turn  which  be- 
gins the  Bach  Prelude,  and  played  that  and  the  accom- 
panying fugue  as  well  as  she  had  ever  played  them. 

Madame's  comment  was  favorable.  She  made  one 
or  two  criticisms.  "Play  some  Beethoven,"  she  sug- 
gested.   "One  movement  will  answer." 

Hope  selected  the  Third  Sonata  of  Opus  31.  The 
first  movement  went  capitally. 

"Let  me  hear  the  second  movement,"  said  Madame. 

This  went  even  better.  Madame  Friedenthal  was 
not  a  medium  like  Mynheer  Van  Wart;  but  her 
intense  nature,  under  proper  conditions,  radiated 
artistic  sympathy ;  the  conditions  being  present,  some- 
thing of  her  own  fiery  genius  was  communicated  to  the 
young  woman. 

"Very  well  done !"  she  said,  nodding  her  head  vig- 
orously, with  a  little  tremor  in  her  voice. 

It  was  enough — more  than  enough.  Madame  was 
notoriously  niggardly  of  praise.  You  or  I,  beloved 
reader,  would  have  cried  out  "Bravo!"     But  if  we 

319 


THE    CHARLATANS 

had  watched  as  many  frogs  inflate  as  had  Madame 
Friedenthal,  we  should  hkely  be  as  chary  of  com- 
mendation; for  there  are  few  more  painful  sights 
than  a  frog  inflated  to  the  danger  point;  one  would 
not  have  the  explosion  on  one's  conscience. 

Hope  was  secretly  elated,  but  not  inflated.  To  Ma- 
dame's  "Very  well  done!"  she  returned  a  grateful 
"Thank  you,"  and  rose  from  the  piano.  The  ques- 
tion of  genius  was  dismissed  with  a  tacit  affirmative. 

Madame  Friedenthal  then  harked  back  to  the  story 
of  Miss  (Winston's  musical  life,  and  preached  a  little 
sermon  on  the  text  "Thou  shalt  have  no  prejudices." 
Thou,  of  course,  referred  to  the  student.  Tlie  teacher 
is  an  autocrat,  and  the  student  must  humble  herself; 
she  has  no  individuality,  she  is  a  slave.  If  she  become 
an  artist,  she  may  disclose  her  individuality,  but  not 
before. 

"You  speak  of  interpretation,"  said  Madame  (Miss 
Winston  had  used  the  word  airily)  ;  "what  right  have 
you  to  speak  of  it  now.''    Can  you  play  a  scale.?" 

Hope  murmured  a  meek  negative. 

"If  the  time  ever  comes  when  you  have  a  perfect 
technic  you  may  think  of  interpretation.  Meantime, 
you  must  work,  drudge." 

And  much  more  of  the  same  sort,  to  which,  I  regret 
320 


APPARENTLY     DECIDED 

to  say,  Miss  Winston  did  not  listen  as  reverently  as 
she  should  have  done;  for  more  than  one  dogmatic 
utterance  was  in  conflict  with  the  artistic  creed  of  Karl 
Geist,  to  whom,  first  of  all,  she  bowed.  Geist  did  not 
countenance  suppressing  individuality,  nor  believe 
that  interpretation  should  wait  on  the  acquisition  of 
a  technic  able  to  cope  with  compositions  designed  to 
dazzle  and  astound.  "The  piano-playing  machines 
have  said  all  there  is  to  say  on  that  sort  of  technic," 
he  declared;  "and  the  pianist  of  the  future  will  be 
primarily  concerned  with  more  important  matters." 

Madame  Friedenthal,  her  little  sermon  done,  chatted 
amiably  of  her  own  student  days.  As  a  child  she  de- 
tested piano  practice,  and  "watered  the  streets  with 
her  tears."  Mathematics  was  always  her  favorite  study ; 
and  though  a  woman,  she  prided  herself  on  her  logic. 

Presently  they  spoke  of  what  Miss  Winston  should 
study.  In  Madame's  opinion,  she  should  study  the 
things  she  cared  least  for ;  these  were  what  she  needed. 
(Yes;  there  was  no  doubt  that  Madame  Friedenthal 
was  a  logician,  despite  the  feminine  gender.  One 
should  study  the  things  to  which  one  is  not  tempera- 
mentally drawn,  just  as  one  should  marry  one's  op- 
posite. We  all  know  how  successfully  this  rule  works 
out  in  matrimony.) 

321 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Take  something  simple,"  said  Madame ;  "a  Chopin 
nocturne,  or  'Songs  Without  Words'." 

Hope,  if  not  a  logician,  was  a  bit  of  a  diplomatist. 

"I  am  inclined  to  be  sentimental,"  she  demurred; 
"don't  you  think  such  things  would  be  bad  for  me?" 

"Sentimental?  Yet  you  dislike  Chopin!"  was  the 
quick  rejoinder.     "How  is  that?" 

"But  Chopin  is  so  fearfully  sentimental." 

"What  can  you  expect?" — good-humoredly.  "The 
poor  man  wasn't  well,  and  he  always  had  a  woman  on 
his  mind." 

Several  other  composers  were  suggested.  Brahms? 
Well,  a  little,  a  very  little ;  one  can  not  build  up  tech- 
nic  on  Brahms. 

Above  all,  one  should  not  dream  of  scaling  the  final 
peak  unless  one  were  in  perfect  physical  condition. 
Was  Miss  Winston  strong  in  body?  The  young  lady 
replied  that  she  had  never  been  sick  a  day.  Madame 
was  able  to  return  as  clean  a  bill  of  health.  "I  am  the 
same  always,  night  or  morning,"  she  said. 

She  shook  hands  cordially  at  parting.  The  touch 
of  her  fingers — ^five  slender  hammers  of  bone  and 
muscle — ^was  an  inspiration  in  itself. 

So,  it  would  appear,  the  die  was  cast,  and  Mr. 

322 


APPARENTLY     DECIDED 


Arthur  West  must  stand  the  hazard  of  it.  Infatuated 
youth ! — do  you  reahze  what  it  will  mean  to  be  wedded 
to  a  beautiful,  tender-hearted  young  woman  who  ac- 
cepted your  hand  merely  in  gratitude? 

Poor  boy,  of  course  you  do  not.  The  world  will 
say :  "What  a  happy  couple  those  young  Wests  are ! 
They  dote  on  each  other.  Mrs.  West  always  plays 
her  best  when  Mr.  West  is  in  the  audience,  and  looks 
first  for  him  iii  the  crowd  that  comes  to  congratulate 
her."  Ah,  but  the  world  will  not  understand.  It  will 
not  see  beneath  the  veneer.  It  is  easily  deceived  by 
the  semblance  of  happiness.  It  does  not  realize  what 
a  difficult  thing  is  the  "artistic  temperament." 
Wretched,  wretched  Arthur!  Will  nothing  interpose 
to  save  you? 

Nothing  promises.  A  young  woman  is  speeding 
across  the  city  to  reply  "Yes"  to  your  tender  pro- 
posal— ^not  wholly  easy  in  her  mind,  yet  resolved  as 
to  her  course,  even  smiling  at  thought  of  the  Prince 
and  the  Chariot,  and  wondering  whether  little  Alice 
will  approve. 

Precisely  how  she  shall  word  her  acceptance  of  the 
tender  of  marriage  perplexes  her.  Of  course,  an  early 
marriage  is  out  of  the  question;  Arthur  must  under- 
stand that  clearly,  as  no  doubt  he  will.    There  must  be 

322 


THE    CHARLATANS 

no  announcement  of  the  engagement,  nor  any  change 
in  their  present  relations,  even  betv/een  themselves; 
Arthur  must  understand  that  also ;  it  may  be  a  trifle 
harder  to  grasp,  but  he  is  a  bright  boy.  Chiefly  (and 
this  is  the  difficult  thing  to  write:  how  difficult  the 
reader  will  understand  if  she  has  ever  been  in  a 
similar  predicament),  Arthur  must  be  made  aware 
that  Miss  Winston  does  not  love  him,  at  present — ^that 
is,  not  as  he  deserves  to  be  loved ;  that  her  sentiments 
may  not  change,  although  there  is  really  no  reason 
why  they  should  not;  that  music  comes  first  in  her 
thoughts,  from  which  he  is  not  utterly  excluded ;  and 
that  since  he  is  fully  advised  of  the  precariousness  of 
his  suit,  he  may,  if  he  sees  fit  (and  as  perhaps  he 
should),  recall  his  proposal  (which  does  him  more 
honor  than  herself),  without  disturbing  their  friend- 
ship a  hair's  breadth. 

This  seemed  to  cover  the  case ;  yet  as  she  ran  it  over 
in  her  mind  it  impressed  her  as  a  trifle  cold.  She  did 
not  appear  to  be  sufficiently  grateful.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  well  to  lay  a  little  more  stress  on  the  possi- 
bility of  a  change  in  her  sentiments.  Arthur  was  a 
sensible  youth,  who  would  not  presume — 

The  conductor  received  a  hurried  signal.  A  young 
lady  had  ridden  three  squares  past  her  corner. 

324> 


CHAPTER     XXVII 

IN   WHICH   KARL   GEIST   MAKES   A   CASUAL 
C  A  lili 


As  she  ascended  to  her  lodgings,  on  the  second 
floor  of  the  shabby  brownstone,  giving  on  the  street, 
Hope  asked  herself  how  long  she  should  continue  to 
occupy  them.  They  were  adequate,  and  fitted  up  in 
a  style  to  which  hitherto  she  had  been  unaccustomed ; 
quite  in  contrast,  too,  with  other  rooms  in  the  house, 
glanced  at  passingly ;  the  parlor  below  and  the  dining- 
room  in  the  basement  were  commonplace  to  the  point 
of  dreariness.  The  comfort  and  touch  of  luxury 
which  she  enjoyed  were,  of  course,  attributable  to  her 
kind  friend,  Doctor  Erdmann,  who  had  personally 
selected  the  apartments  (a  large  living-room  and  a 
small  bedroom),  and  had  seen  that  they  contained 

S25 


THE    CHARLATANS 

everything  Miss  Winston  might  desire.  From  Doctor 
Erdmann  had  come  the  "Colossus"  grand  piano,  the 
music  cabinet,  and  the  piano  lamp.  She  had  protested 
against  this  munificence,  the  propriety  of  accepting 
which  she  gravely  doubted ;  but  the  good  Doctor  had 
gently  overruled  her  objections — "in  the  cause  of 
Art" ;  and  as  the  things  were  in  the  rooms  when  she 
arrived  to  take  possession,  to  insist  on  their  removal 
was  to  risk  offending  the  most  disinterestedly  benevol- 
ent gentleman  one  would  encounter  in  a  long  day's 
walk. 

None  the  less,  her  mind  was  far  from  tranquil,  and 
she  was  all  the  more  pleased  that  her  visit  to  Madame 
Friedenthal  had  resulted  so  successfully;  for  since 
she  had  decided  to  bond  herself,  soul  and  body,  to 
Music,  she  would  no  longer  be  under  obligations  to 
any  person. 

The  thought  of  her  bondage  made  her  shiver  a  little, 
as  she  sat  to  her  writing-table  and  began  to  compose 
her  reply  to  Arthur's  letter. 

"Dear  Arthur—" 

The  words  seemed  hollow,  the  merest  shells  of 
speech.  Never  had  Arthur  been  more  distant  from 
her  thoughts;  for  suddenly  the  magic  lantern  threw 
on  the  screen  the  picture  of  a  park  in  springtime,  a 

326 


CASUAL     CALL 


dark-haired  young  man  stretched  on  the  greensward, 
by  the  side  of  a  silver  lagoon.  She  heard  again, 
fainter  than  Elfland's  horns,  the  music  in  his  voice — 

"Mother  of  the  dews,  dark  eye-lashed  twilight. 
Low-lidded  twilight,  o'er  the  valley's  brim, 

Rounding  on  thy  breast  sings  the  dew-delighted  skylark. 
Clear  as  though  the  dewdrops  had  their  voice  in  him." 

Then  the  park  rolled  away,  like  the  panorama  of 
"Parsifal,"  and  the  other  picture  took  its  place:  two  in 
a  valley,  hand  in  hand  by  the  river's  brim,  a  white- 
throat  singing  in  a  hazel  covert. 

An  abrupt  and  fierce  desire  for  her  own  happiness 
rushed  over  her.  She  shrank  from  the  immolation 
of — herself.  Yes:  for  the  first  time  it  came  to  her 
that  she,  not  Arthur,  was  to  be  sacrificed;  that  her 
soul,  not  his,  would  be  numbered  with  the  wrecks  on 
Music's  sounding  shore.  What  should  it  profit  her, 
as  was  asked  many  centuries  ago,  if  she  gained  the 
whole  world  and  lost  her  own  soul.?  Poor  Princess 
Hope !    She  hid  her  face  in  her  arm  and  cried  softly. 

Suddenly  she  lifted  her  head,  irresolution  banished. 
Taking  up  her  pen,  she  wrote — slowly,  but  without 
hesitation — sealed  the  letter,  and  put  on  her  hat. 
There  was  a  mail-box  at  the  near  corner. 

327 


THE    CHARLATANS 

The  door-bell  jangled  dismally  below.  She  start- 
ed apprehensively,  pricking  her  cheek  with  a  hat-pin. 
She  was  overwrought,  she  told  herself.  A  walk  would 
quiet  her  nerves. 

As  she  opened  the  door  she  started  again;  the 
landlady  stood  without.  Hope  disliked  the  woman 
exceedingly.  She  was  always  respectful  and  accom- 
modating, but  she  had  a  furtive  air  and  an  evasive 
eye,  and  an  unpleasant  habit  of  smiling  when  there 
seemed  not  the  slightest  reason  for  it. 

"Letter  for  you.  Miss*  A  boy  just  brought  it." 

Hope  thanked  her  in  a  monosyllable,  and  closed 
the  door. 

The  letter  was  addressed  in  an  unfamiliar  hand, 
but  as  she  drew  forth  the  inclosure  the  signature 
"Rhoda  Weathers"  faced  her,  and  with  a  premoni- 
tion of  disaster  she  turned  hurriedly  to  the  introduc- 
tory "Dear,  dear  friend.     .     ." 

She  read,  with  paling  cheeks,  to  the  last  word ;  then 
a  cry  of  anguish  passed  her  lips,  and  she  drooped 
against  the  window-casing,  hand  pressed  to  heart. 

A  tap  at  the  door  went  unnoticed.  It  was  re- 
peated, and  this  time  she  heard.  She  rose,  saying, 
"Come!"  and  went  toward  the  door.  It  opened,  dis- 
closing Doctor  Rudolf  Erdmann. 

328 


"  You  !  "  her  lips  tried  to  say 


Page  J2^ 


A    CAStjAL     CALL 

At  sight  of  him  Hope  halted,  fear  and  detesta- 
tion dilating  her  eyes,  Rhoda's  letter  crumpled  in  her 
hand.  "You !"  her  lips  tried  to  say,  but  the  word  died 
on  them. 

This  ominous  greeting  was  not  remarked  by  Doc- 
tor Erdmann;  the  daylight  waned,  and  he  was,  be- 
sides, occupied  in  bowing  low  over  his  silk  hat. 

"Good  afternoon,"  he  said  suavely,  and  advanced 
into  the  room. 

She  shrank  back,  still  unable  to  syllable  her  emo- 
tions, and  put  a  hand  for  support  on  the  back  of  a 
chair.  And  now  Doctor  Erdmann  could  not  fail  to 
perceive  that  something  was  amiss. 

"My  dear  Miss  Winston  .  .  .  you  are  ill  ,  .  . 
permit  me     .     .     ." 

Step  by  step  she  retreated,  staring  fascinated  and 
with  a  growing  horror — not  at  the  man,  but  at  a 
cabochon  emerald  ring  on  one  fat  finger  of  his  out- 
stretched hand. 

Since  the  hand  was  not  taken,  he  withdrew  it. 
The  spell  was  broken. 

"How  dare  you !"  she  cried.   "Oh,  how  could  you !" 

"Miss  Winston  .  .  ."  He  paused,  at  loss  for 
the  right  phrase. 

"Go  away !     Please  go  away !"  she  begged. 
229 


THE    CHARLATANS 

At  that  moment  came  another  knock  at  the  door, 
and  Hope  sprang  toward  it. 

"Stop — ^I  will  go,"  said  Doctor  Erdmann,  losing 
his  temper.  He  thrust  her  aside  roughly,  jerked  open 
the  door,  and  passed  out,  shielding  his  face  with  his 
high  hat. 

The  opportune  caller  was  Karl  Geist.  So  dark 
was  the  hall,  Erdmann  probably  did  not  recognize 
him.  Waiting  until  the  president  of  the  Colossus 
had  turned  the  stair,  Geist  tapped  again  softly  at 
the  now  open  door. 

Hope  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room — rigid,  wide- 
eyed,  and  breathing  with  difficulty.  Rhoda's  letter 
was  still  crushed  in  her  hand. 

"May  I  come  in?"  said  Geist  pleasantly.  "I  saw 
you  at  the  window  reading,  and  I  ventured  a  call. 
The  landlady  told  me  you  were  not  at  home.  I  must 
apologize  for  insisting." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Hope,  voicing  the  deep  relief 
which  the  sight  of  his  gentle  face  had  brought  her. 
"Won't — ^won't  you  sit  down.?" 

She  strove  to  match  his  casual  manner,  grateful 
to  him  for  blinking  the  late  presence  of  Doctor 
Erdmann. 

"I  can  stay  but  a  minute  or  two,"  said  Geis^,  tak- 
330 


A    CASUAL     CALL 


ing  a  chair.  "I  have  to-night's  concert  on  my  mind, 
you  know,  and  I  promised  Miss  Hammond  to  run 
over  her  number  with  her." 

At  the  word  "concert"  Hope  gasped,  and  crushed 
Rhoda's  letter  more  tightly.  Then,  controlling  her- 
self, she  said: 

"When  you  go,  I  should  like  to  go  with  you — 
if  I  may." 

"Yes;  certainly,"  he  nodded,  as  if  Miss  Winston's 
abrupt  decision  to  leave  her  present  lodgings  was 
the  most  natural  thing  imaginable.  "Shan't  I  call 
a  cab  ?" 

"There  is  a  telephone  in  the  house.  Would  you 
mind     .     .     ..?" 

"Not  in  the  least.  .  .  .  Any  little  business  mat- 
ters to  attend  to?" 

She  mentioned  a  sum  owing  the  establishment,  and 
gave  him  her  purse,  and  Geist  descended  to  interview 
the  landlady. 

When  he  was  gone,  Hope's  fortitude  gave  way, 
and  she  abandoned  herself  to  a  fit  of  weeping.  How, 
oh,  how  could  she  bring  herself  to  tell  Geist  that 
Rhoda  was  dead!  Over  and  over  she  sobbed  the 
words — "Rhoda  dead! — Rhoda  dead!" — until  the 
clock  in  the  room,  the  turning  wheels  in  the  street,  the 

331 


THE    CHARLATANS 

cries  of  children  at  play,  took  up  the  sad  refrain. 
Suddenly  she  sprang  up,  dashing  the  tears  from  her 
eyes.  She  must  be  brave  for  Rhoda's  sake.  Rhoda 
had  laid  an  obligation  on  her,  and  she  would  need  all 
her  strength  and  courage  to  discharge  it. 

When  Geist,  having  transacted  the  business  below 
stairs  in  a  leisurely  fashion,  returned  to  the  second- 
floor  front,  Miss  Winston  was  completing  a  hurried 
packing  of  her  trunk — ^never  a  long  operation,  as  her 
worldly  effects  were  few.  The  trunk  strapped,  they 
sat  down  to  await  the  coming  of  the  cab. 

Geist  essayed  a  few  commonplaces  of  conversation. 
The  girl,  he  saw,  was  overstrung,  and  was  making 
drafts  on  her  nerve  reserve. 

"Where  would  you  like  to  go?"  he  said. 

"T6  Flora's,"  she  replied.  "Flora  will  take  me 
in  for  a  day  or  two.    I  shall  be  going  home  soon." 

"Let  me  assert  my  waning  authority,"  he  smiled, 
"and  command  you  to  avoid  the  concert  to-night." 

The  remark  seemed  further  to  disorder  her. 

"I  must  go,"  she  answered  chokingly.  "You — you 
will  understand." 

He  was  perplexed,  and  a  trifle  dismayed  by  the 
look  of  pity  which  she  turned  on  him. 

"It  will  be  more  or  less  of  a  strain,"  he  cautioned. 
332 


A     CASITAL     CALL 

"You  have  been  working  too  hard,  I  fear.  You  need 
quiet." 

"Yes ;  it  will  be  a  strain — ^but — ^but  I  must  go." 

"Very  well,  then,"  he  said  gravely. 

A  clatter  on  the  asphalt  before  the  house  betokened 
the  arrival  of  the  cab. 


333 


CHAPTER     XXVIII 


A      CHANGE      IN       THE      PROGRAMME 


When  Stanley  Arthur  Jones  and  his  radiant  bride- 
to-be  entered  the  conservatory  recital  hall,  the  presi- 
dent of  the  Colossus  was  holding  the  last  levee  of  the 
music  year. 

Commencement  week  had  been  unusually  strenuous 
and  brilliant.  Its  cares  and  ferments  justified,  per- 
haps, the  lack  of  color  in  Doctor  Erdmann's  normally 
florid  face,  a  certain  distraction  in  his  manner,  a 
nervous  apprehension  more  than  once  betrayed  when 
some  person  with  whom  he  was  not  at  the  moment 
talking  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"How  serious  Doctor  Erdmann  looks!"  Flora  re- 
334 


CHANGE     IN     THE     PROGRAMME 

marked.      "One  hardly   recognizes   him   without  his 
Cheshire-cat  grin." 

"Consider,"  said  Jones,  "the  responsibility  of  turn- 
ing loose  on  the  world  ten  thousand  graduates." 

"Fifteen  hundred  at  the  most.  Don't  make  it  any 
worse  than  it  is." 

"If  Erdmann  has  a  conscience    .    .    ." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Flora.  "Oh,  there  are  the  May- 
bury  s.  Their  first  appearance,  to  my  knowledge.  I 
suppose  they  came  on  Karl  Geist's  account." 

"Ah,  he  plays  to-night.?" 

"Yes ;  and  so  does  Rhoda  Weathers.  This  concert 
wiU  be,  in  a  way,  her  debut." 

Mr.  Jones  acknowledged  the  privilege  of  being  in 
at  the  birth  of  an  artistic  career,  and  desired  the 
pleasure  of  congratulating  the  artist  in  advance  of 
her  triumph.  "But  I  do  not  observe  Miss  Weathers," 
he  remarked,  glancing  about  the  haU. 

"Nor  I."  Miss  Matheson  wrinkled  her  brows  a  bit. 
"I  haven't  seen  the  child  since  morning." 

"Your  voice  and  face  betray  uneasiness,  my  love," 
said  Jones.    He  smiled  fondly  on  her. 

"Nothing  escapes  you  novelists,"  said  Flora  iron- 
ically. "Yes ;  I  am  uneasy,  Stanley.  Come,  let's  say 
how-do-you-do  to  Doctor  Erdmann." 

SS5 


THE    CHARLATANS 

They  advanced  to  discharge  this  obligation. 

So  far  as  the  general  public  was  concerned,  com- 
mencement week  was  at  an  end.  The  annual  oration 
had  been  delivered  by  a  prosperous  alumnus,  the 
diplomas  and  gold  medals  distributed,  the  degrees 
conferred,  and  the  commencement  concert  given.  This 
concert,  always  the  principal  feature,  had  been  bril- 
liant beyond  precedent.  Graduates,  establishing  a 
new  record  in  number,  had  been  ranged  impressively, 
tier  on  tier,  like  a  vast  oratorio  chorus,  on  the  stage 
of  Music  Hall,  at  their  feet  the  conservatory  or- 
chestra-graduates in  brass  and  strings  and  woodwind ; 
beyond,  an  audience  that  filled  the  great  hall  to  over- 
flowing. Facing  this  enormous  assembly,  and  indicat- 
ing proudly  the  tiering  talent  at  his  back,  Doctor 
Erdmann  had  been  inspired  to  say: 

"This  is  the  Golden  Age  of  Music !" 

The  audience  clapped  a  loud  assent.  The  grad- 
uates, thinking  of  their  teachers'  certificates,  smiled 
happily. 

The  present  reception  and  concert,  in  the  recital 
hall  of  the  conservatory,  was  an  impromptu  affair, 
quite  apart  from  the  conventional  pyrotechnics  of 
commencement.  It  contemplated  the  mutual  pleasure 
of  the  more  serious   students   and  members   of  the 

386 


CHANGE     IN     THE     PROGRAMME 

faculty,  and  the  limited  number  of  invited  outsiders 
included  distinguished  members  of  the  musical  set  of 
the  metropolis,  who,  like  the  Mayburys,  seldom  or 
never  attended  a  Grindstone  concert.  Doctor  Erd- 
mann  suggested  it,  and  desired  Karl  Geist  to  take 
charge  of  the  musical  end,  himself  attending  to  the 
social.  The  result  was  a  programme  of  exceptional  in- 
terest, comprehending  several  compositions  of  a  more 
intimate  sort  than  one  may  hope  to  hear  at  public 
concerts ;  or  would  care  to  hear,  for  that  matter,  since 
in  a  large  auditorium  there  can  be  no  real  sympathy 
between  player  and  listener,  and  only  the  superficial 
in  the  effective. 

When  all  who  wished  to  clasp  the  hand  of  Doctor 
Erdmann  had  enjoyed  the  privilege,  the  president 
and  a  dozen  of  his  faculty  took  seats  on  the  stage, 
and  the  audience  disposed  itself  for  the  concert. 

Arthur  West,  arriving  late,  paused  before  taking 
his  seat  to  scan  the  rows  of  faces.  He  located  his 
parents,  sitting  with  Flora  Matheson  and  Stanley 
Arthur  Jones,  and  a  score  or  more  of  people  that  he 
knew ;  but  the  bright  particular  countenance  his  eyes 
made  quest  for  was  not  in  sight.  His  disappointment 
was  peculiarly  acute.  The  non-appearance  of  Miss 
Winston  was  ominous.    Had  she  remained  away  from 


THE    CHARLATANS 

the    concert    to    avoid    encountering    him?     It    was 
drearily  possible. 

Trying  are  the  hours  that  follow  the  despatch  of  a 
proposal  of  marriage.  The  mails,  swift  enough  in 
sordid  business  transactions,  are  very  snails  with  bil- 
lets-doux; and  one  may  not  force  the  pace,  in  such 
delicate  correspondence,  with  stamps  of  special  deliv- 
ery ;  though  fancy  may  picture  Cupid  a-wheel,  letter- 
bag  at  side,  dashing  up  to  the  porch  of  the  waiting 
lover.     "Sign  here,  sir!" 

While  Arthur  dared  not  hope  for  a  favorable 
answer  to  his  letter  before  at  least  the  morning  fol- 
lowing, he  had  lingered  at  home  for  the  latest  mail, 
relieved  in  mind  when  the  postman  passed  him  by.  A 
speedy  reply,  he  reflected,  would  spell  rejection;  for 
when  the  word  is  Yes,  woman  is  properly  deliberate  in 
saying  it.  Surely  in  such  case,  no  news  is  good  news ; 
and  Arthur  hastened  to  the  concert,  hoping  to  read, 
in  the  eyes  of  the  beloved  one,  some  letter  of  the  little 
word  the  morrow  might  have  in  store  for  him. 

"I  say.  West!" 

A  hand  touched  his  arm,  and  he  turned  to  see  a 
police-court  reporter  for  the  Chronicle, 

"Hello,  Bentley!  Doing  music  now.?"  asked 
Arthur  jokingly, 

338 


CHANGE     IN     'P-HE     PROGRAMME 

The  other  grinned  a  disclaimer.  "No.  I'm  look- 
ing for  Doctor  Erdmann.  Point  him  out  for  me,  will 
you.    I  don't  happen  to  know  him." 

"That  large,  commercial-looking  gentleman  on  the 
stage,"  indicated  West.  "You  will  know  him  by  his 
spreading  smile." 

"I'll  take  a  reef  in  that,**  replied  the  reporter. 
"Thanks,  old  man." 

"What's  up  .f^"  asked  Arthur  curiously. 

"Suicide — music  student,"  the  newspaper  man  re- 
turned briefly,  and  made  toward  the  stage  door. 

West  followed  him  down  the  side  aisle,  and  took  a 
seat  between  his  mother  and  Miss  Matheson. 

"Have  you  seen  Hope?"  he  questioned  Flora,  in  an 
undertone.    "I  thought  she  might  be  with  you." 

He  was  informed  that  Miss  Winston  had  gone  be- 
hind with  Karl  Geist  a  few  minutes  before. 

"Why,  IS  she  to  play.f^"  he  asked,  suddenly  inter- 
ested in  the  programme. 

"Her  name  is  not  down,"  Miss  Matheson  replied. 
"I  haven't  seen  Hope  to  speak  to  for  several  days. 
Stanley" — a  tender  smile — "occupies  so  much  of  my 
time." 

"Time  was  made  for  lovers,"  murmured  the  enrap- 
tured Jones. 

339 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"For  prosperous  lovers,"  said  Arthur  dismally. 
Flora  gave  him  a  glance  of  sympathy. 

A  young  man  came  out  on  the  stage  and  spoke  a 
word  in  Doctor  Erdmann's  ear.  The  president  got  up 
hurriedly  and  followed  him  off.  Arthur  West  was 
suddenly  reminded  of  the  reporter's  communication. 

"How  distressing!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  West.  "Did 
you  learn  the  name,  Arthur?" 

The  Chronicle  man  had  not  mentioned  the  name. 

"A  Colossus  student.?"  the  elder  West  inquired. 

A  natural  inference.  The  reporter  was  interviewing 
the  president. 

"I'll  hold  Bentley  up  when  he  comes  out  and  find 
out  the  details,"  young  West  offered. 

"Don't,  Arthur!"  Miss  Matheson  implored,  in  an 
agitated  whisper.  "It  might — it  might  be  some  one 
we  know." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  The  color  had  for- 
saken her  face;  intense  anxiety  was  in  her  eyes.  The 
young  man  wondered. 

"Why  anticipate  evil  tidings?"  remarked  Jones, 
with  a  lover's  deprecation  of  the  jarring  note.  "As  it 
is,  our  pleasure  in  the  concert  has  been  clouded  al- 
ready." 

Arthur's  apology  was  submerged  in  a  round  of  ap- 
340 


CHANGE     IN     XHHE     PROGRAMME 

plause  that  greeted  Victor  Mabbitt,  who  opened  the 
programme  with  Schumann's  "Carnival." 

In  the  midst  of  this  joyous  offering  Doctor  Erd- 
mann  returned  to  his  seat.  His  face  was  chalky,  and 
he  mopped  his  forehead,  though  the  temperature  in 
the  hall  was  not  high.  The  reporter  did  not  reappear. 
He  had  slipped  out  the  rear  door. 

Mabbitt's  performance  was  rewarded  with  the  ap- 
probation of  the  critical.  He  had  laid  aside  the  care- 
lessness which  usually  characterized  his  playing,  and 
gave  sincerely  of  his  best. 

It  was  wasted  on  at  least  two  persons  in  the  audi- 
ence. Arthur  West  was  inattentive  to  the  point  of 
restlessness.  Flora  Matheson,  sick  at  heart  with  ap- 
prehension, for  which  she  had  her  own  reasons,  was 
unable  to  withdraw  her  eyes  from  Doctor  Erdmann's 
face. 

Mr.  Mabbitt  retired. 

"  'Rhapsody,  G-minor,  Brahms,'  "  Jones  read  from 
the  programme;  "by  the  master's  favorite  pupil, 
Rhoda  Weathers.  My  love,  we  should  have  brought 
some  roses." 

Miss  Matheson  did  not  seem  to  hear.  She  leaned 
forward,  breathless,  her  eyes  now  fixed  on  the  little 
door  that  opened  off  the  stage.    When,  presently,  it 

341 


THE    CHARLATANS 

opened,  and  a  young  woman  dressed  plainly  in  black 
appeared,  Flora  sank  back,  a  sob  in  her  throat,  and 
put  her  programme  before  her  face. 

"Why,  it's  Hope  Winston !"  said  Mrs.  West. 

"A  pleasant  surprise,  truly !"  said  Jones, 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Arthur.  Then  observing 
Miss  Matheson:  "Flora  was  in  on  it.  She's  smiling 
behind  her  programme." 

Miss  Matheson's  fingers  closed  convulsively  around 
the  young  man's  wrist,  and  he  fell  silent, 

Disregardful  of  the  polite  spatter  of  applause 
which  greeted  her  entrance,  the  young  woman  in  black 
crossed  to  the  piano.  Those  nearest  the  stage  ob- 
served that  her  face  was  very  pale,  and  that  she 
glanced  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left.  Once  seated, 
she  began,  without  an  instant's  pause,  the  Second 
Rhapsody  of  Brahms. 

The  cognoscenti  sat  up  and  looked  at  one  another, 
and  as  measure  succeeded  measure  they  wagged  their 
heads  in  disapproval.  It  might  be  magnificent;  it 
was  not  Brahms.   Amazing  interpretation ! 

Under  the  flying  fingers  of  the  young  pianist,  the 
Rhapsody  became  a  canticle  of  woe,  a  declaration  of 
despair.  Rage  was  in  the  opening  theme ;  grief,  des- 
peration, blind  resentment  against  an  ineluctable  fate, 

342 


CHANGE     IN     T-HE     PROGRAMME 

were  in  the  climax ;  all  else  was  dull  pain,  irremediable 
sorrow. 

Doctor  Erdmann  listened  with  a  face  of  stone. 

The  Rhapsody  closed  sensationally.  Instead  of  the 
diminuendo  came  a  tempestuous  crescendo — wave 
heaped  on  wave,  and  flung,  in  final  impotent  frenzy, 
against  the  wall  of  the  closing  cadence. 

Stirred  by  the  tour  de  force,  the  audience  applauded 
extravagantly.  Even  the  cognoscenti  joined.  It 
might  not  be  Brahms,  but  it  was  indubitably  mag- 
nificent. 

The  pianist  rose,  as  from  a  grave-side,  and  with  un- 
steady steps  recrossed  the  stage.  As  she  passed  the 
little  door  she  put  out  her  hands  gropingly,  and  sank, 
sobbing  but  dry-eyed,  into  the  arms  of  Flora  Mathe- 
son,  who,  anticipating  a  collapse,  had  hastened  be- 
hind scenes,  followed  by  Arthur  West. 

"Poor  dear!"  said  Flora,  whose  own  eyes  were 
streaming.  "Get  some  water,  Karl.  Mr.  Mabbitt, 
will  you  call  a  cab  .f^" 

"Permit  me,"  said  West,  and  hastened  on  the  er- 
rand. 

Mabbitt  had  anticipated  Geist,  who  appeared  com- 
pletely dazed.  "Keep  the  concert  going,  Karl,"  he 
said.  "I  will  assist  Miss  Matheson." 

343 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Thank  you,"  said  Flora.  "Miss  Winston  will  be 
all  right  presently." 

"Natural  reaction  after  such  an  eifort,"  Mabbitt 
remarked.    "Gad!  what  strength!" 

"Your  number,  Miss  Hammond,"  said  Geist  dully. 

The  young  woman  addressed  detached  herself  from 
the  little  circle  of  sympathizers,  and  went  forth  to 
offer  Liszt's  "Mephisto"  waltz. 

The  gay,  wild,  mocking  music  put  the  audience  in 
an  excellent  humor. 


S44 


CHAPTER     XXIX 


THE      CAMP     ON     THE     POPPLE 


Some  twenty  miles  north  of  Ledge,  an  outpost  of 
civilization,  a  twenty-foot  slash  through  the  timber 
crosses  the  south  fork  of  the  Popple  River.  Here  a 
log  shelter  for  horses  has  been  built,  for  thus  far  the 
wilderness  wayfarer  may  travel  on  wheels,  and  the 
junction  of  road  and  river  is  a  common  camp-ground. 
Beyond  the  Popple  the  "road"  dwindles  to  nothing- 
ness. 

In  a  small  clearing  on  the  north  bank  of  the  stream 
a  family  of  rabbits  are  frisking  around  a  small  tent 
pitched  among  young  poplars.  One  tips  over  a  pile 
of  pans,  and  the  resultant  crash  sends  the  brood 
scurrying  for  cover.     Lifeless  the  tiny  world,  while 

S45 


THE    CHARLATANS . 

the  reverberations  of  the  thunderclap  die  among  the 
grasses.  Now  here,  now  there,  is  hfted  up  a  pair  of 
questioning  ears.  Confidence  returns.  The  youngest 
of  the  brood  whisks  into  the  clearing.  Presto!  the 
others  follow,  and  the  noiseless  rout  is  on  anew. 

But  hush !  From  the  river  comes  the  sound  of  a  pad- 
dle. Stiffens  every  frolicking  ball  of  fur.  A  bark 
canoe  pushes  through  the  overhanging  green,  and  the 
Lord  of  the  Clearing  arrives.  Whisk!  the  fur-balls 
are  gone,  as  fays  at  cock-crow. 

The  Lord  of  the  Clearing  drew  his  bark  ashore  and 
placed  it  bottom  up  among  the  bushes,  noting  a  seam 
that  needed  pitching.  But  this  must  wait  until  after 
supper;  taking  up  his  ax  he  felled  a  dead  jack-pine 
and  worked  the  stick  into  fuel.  Then  he  kindled  a  fire, 
and  pail  in  hand  went  down  to  the  river. 

The  day  had  been  oppressively  hot,  and  a  porten- 
tous calm  lay  along  the  valley.  The  voice  of  the  river 
seemed  muffled;  the  tin  pail,  struck  against  a  stone, 
was  sharply  responsive;  poplar  leaves,  that  danced  to 
a  zephyr's  fiddling,  hung  quiverless.  Leaning  against 
the  log  bridge  that  spanned  the  stream,  he  studied 
the  copperish  southwest.   A  storm  threatened. 

A  small  sound,  dull  and  distant,  disturbed  the  slug- 
gish stillness,  resolving  itself,  as  the  minutes  passed, 

346 


THE    CAMP    ON    THE    POPPLE 

into  the  rattle  of  a  wagon  coming  down  Pine  Moun- 
tain. "Timber  cruisers,"  Churchill  Gray  surmised, 
and  returned  to  his  fire. 

When  he  had  finished  supper,  he  spread  a  map  upon 
his  knees,  and  with  pipestem  traced,  for  the  hundredth 
time,  the  pathway  to  the  Lake  of  Dreams.  If  the 
Popple  were  navigable,  one  might  drive  a  canoe  to 
the  lake  in  which  it  headed,  and  journey  thence,  by 
a  chain  of  waters,  to  the  very  core  of  Silence. 

He  had  spent  the  day  exploring  the  South  Fork, 
finding  promise  of  sufficient  water  for  his  expedition. 
The  morrow's  sun  should  see  him  on  his  way,  and,  if 
all  went  well,  he  should  stand,  the  fourth  day,  on  the 
shore  of  the  Lake  of  Dreams — a  lake  his  fancy  had 
surrounded  with  a  rim  of  exquisite  beauty,  and  out 
of  which  a  fascinating  little  river  ran  northward,  to 
join  with  other  little  rivers  in  a  pilgrimage  to  Hud- 
son Bay.  He  meant  to  camp  on  the  southern  marge  of 
this  magic  mere,  explore  and  chart  its  every  indenta- 
tion, and  fish  the  little  river,  which,  an  Indian  had 
told  him,  was  a  wonderful  stream  for  trout.  As  in 
deep  content  he  smoked  his  pipe,  he  traversed  in  im- 
agination the  reaches  of  the  Popple  and  the  chain  of 
waters  beyond;  and  men  and  cities,  and  brotherhood 
and  strife  were  not.    The  world  was  well  forgotten. 

347 


THE    CHARLATANS 

But,  as  many  of  us  have  found,  forgetting  may  not 
long  be  willed,  nor  may  we  escape  the  world  so  long 
as  a  single  thread  binds  us  to  it.  In  the  course  of  an 
hour  an  outfit  from  Ledge  arrived  in  the  clearing. 
The  teamster  took  a  bulky  letter  from  his  cap,  and 
delivered  it  to  Gray. 

"Ericsson  said  I  might  ketch  you  here  before  you 
pulled  your  stakes,"  he  remarked.  "If  you  want  to 
send  back  any  mail  I'll  take  it  in  the  morning." 

Gray  glanced  at  the  letter,  and  noted  that  the  hand- 
writing was  Flora  Matheson's. 

"Much  obliged,  Kelly,"  he  said.  "Who  are  the 
chaps  with  you?" 

"Dave  Sterling  and  Ed  Howe.  Looking  pine  in 
sixty-four.  We  shack  up  here  for  the  night." 

"You'll  be  starting  back  early,  I  suppose .?" 

"By  sun-up.  Road's  pretty  tough.  Guess  we're  go- 
in'  to  have  a  shower." 

The  teamster,  squinting  at  the  sky,  went  back  to 
his  horses,  and  Gray  opened  his  letter. 

*'My  Dear  Churchill,"  it  ran :  "Karl  gave  me  your 
address,  such  as  it  is,  and  suggested  that  I  write  to 
you.  He  thought  you  might  wish  to  learn  of  a  few 
recent  happenings,  even  if  you  lighted  your  pipe  with 
the  news,  as  you  threatened  to  do.   Poor  Karl !   He  is 

348 


THE    CAMP    ON    THE    POPPLE 

terribly  upset  by  Rhoda  Weathers'  suicide,  the  news- 
paper reports  of  which  I  inclose.  Overstudy,  they  say 
the  cause  was,  but  some  of  us  believe  otherwise.  It  is 
not  a  pleasant  story,  Churchill,  and  I  will  not  pain 
you  with  it  now.  You  never  saw  much  of  Rhoda,  so 
your  interest  in  her  can  be  only  slight ;  but  as  her  little 
tragedy  brought  forward,  somewhat  dramatically,  a 
person  in  whom  you  may  he  interested,  you  will  for- 
give my  disturbing  your  woodland  peace  with  uncheer- 
ful  tidings.  Perhaps  I  shan't  disturb  it,  as  it  is;  for 
I  dare  say  you  will  not  get  this  letter  until  you  come 
out  of  the  tall  timber.  However,  I  am  hoping  for  the 
best,  and  if  I  do  not  hear  from  you  promptly,  I  shall 
take  the  responsibility  of  doing  what  I  am  now  going 
to  ask  you  to  do. 

"But  first  about  Rhoda.  She  was  to  appear  at  a 
concert  given  in  the  conservatory  last  night,  and  just 
before  the  mad  child  drowned  herself  she  sent  a  note 
to  Hope  Winston,  asking  her  to  play  the  Brahms 
Rhapsody  in  her  stead;  a  curious  request,  when  you 
consider  that  the  girls  were  not  really  friends;  al- 
though Hope  tells  me  that  from  the  first  day  she  met 
Rhoda  she  had  a  curious  feeling  that  their  destinies 
were  linked.  No  one  except  Karl  and  myself  knows 
the  real  reason  for  the  change  in  last  night's  pro- 
gramme, so  we  have  been  spared  the  usual  newspaper 
'romance,'  with  pictures. 

"I  wish  you  might  have  heard  Hope  play  that 
Rhapsody.    It  was  wonderful,  it  was  unearthly.    The 

349 


THE    CHARLATANS 

hands  were  Hope  Winston's,  but  the  soul,  Churchill, 
was  the  soul  of  Rhoda  Weathers.  Of  course,  Hope, 
like  the  true  feminine  she  is,  went  all  to  pieces  after- 
ward, and  is  still  a  bit  hysterical.  I  don't  understand 
her — quite.  It  was  a  terrible  strain,  to  be  sure,  but 
there  seems  to  be  something  back  of  it  all — something 
Hope  hasn't  told  me.  She  talks  of  going  home  at  once, 
and  I  am  having  a  difficult  time  of  it  trying  to  dis- 
suade her.  ( I  wish  you  were  here  to  help  me. )  Arthur 
West  called  an  hour  ago,  but  Plope  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused from  seeing  him.  Poor  Arthur!  He,  too,  is 
badly  broken  up.  Some  of  us  thought  we  saw  a  match 
there,  but  the  dear  girl  has  suddenly  acquired  an  in- 
tense aversion  for  the  male  sex,  and  declares  that  the 
only  man  she  wishes  to  see  again  is  her  father.  (You 
can  take  that,  Churchill,  with  a  grain  of  salt.)  You 
will  readily  understand  how  cheerful  such  sentiments 
sound  to  a  young  woman  who  is  to  be  married  in  Octo- 
ber. Forgive  the  reference  to  my  own  happiness.  It 
seems  dreadfully  selfish,  in  view  of  yesterday's  trag- 
edy. 

"Now  about  Hope  and  her  future.  It  seems  she  has 
no  more  money  for  music  lessons,  and  is  too  proud  to 
accept  assistance  from  her  friends.  I  have  talked  and 
talked  to  her,  and  even  wept,  but  it  doesn't  do  a  bit  of 
good.  She  is  set  on  burying  herself  in  Swiftwater, 
and  the  mere  thought  of  that  makes  me  wild.  Don't 
you  think  that  if  the  offer  came  from  Mrs.  May  bury, 
who  would  know  just  how  to  formulate  it,  the  matter 

350 


THE    CAMP    ON    THE    POPPLE 

might  be  arranged?  Won't  you  write  to  Mrs.  May- 
bury  at  once — that  is,  if  this  letter  reaches  you  before 
you  vanish  in  the  deep-tangled  wildwood.  Meanwhile 
I  will  do  my  best  to  persuade  Hope  to  remain  with  me 
a  while  longer. 

"You  are  well,  of  course,  and  beautifully  browned, 
and  having  a  perfectly  glorious  time.  But  come  back 
before  October,  won't  you,  Churchill,  and  be  present 
at  a  'quiet  home  wedding'  ?    Affectionately, 

"Flora." 


Gray  turned  to  the  newspaper  clippings,  which  con- 
cerned, as  the  Chronicle  phrased  it,  "the  self-destruc- 
tion of  a  pretty  music  student  whose  reason  had  been 
unsettled  by  excess  of  study."  There  was  a  brief  in- 
terview with  Doctor  Erdmann,  in  which  the  president 
of  the  Colossus,  "profoundly  affected  by  the  tragic 
event,"  spoke  in  warmest  terms  of  the  unfortunate 
young  woman,  whose  talent  was  of  an  unusually  high 
order,  and  who,  had  she  lived,  would  have  brought 
credit  to  the  Colossus  and  herself.  "A  pathetic  inter- 
est," the  Chronicle  went  on  to  say,  "was  lent  to  the 
concert  last  evening  in  the  recital  hall  of  the  conserv- 
atory by  the  fact  that  Miss  Weathers's  name  was  on 
the  programme  for  a  Brahms  Rhapsody.  Her  place 
was  filled  by  another  Student,  Miss  Hope  Winston, 

851      -  *• 


THE    CHARLATANS 

who  gave  a  splendid  and  convincing  rendition  of  the 
rhapsody,  evoking  a  furore  of  applause,  to  which  the 
young  lady  was  too  modest  to  respond." 

Gray  put  by  the  clippings,  and  looked  the  letter 
through  again.  Yes ;  there  was  "something  back  of 
it  all,"  as  Flora  surmised.  He  recalled  his  farewell 
chat  with  Karl  Geist, — his  friend's  uneasiness  and 
plainly-evidenced  wish  that  Gray  delay  his  departure 
for  the  north  country.  He  had  not  pressed  Geist  for 
details,  not  wishing  to  seem  over-interested  in  Miss 
Winston ;  thus  he  had  lost,  or  declined,  a  possible  op- 
portunity to  serve  her. 

Again  he  was  appealed  to ;  and  this  time  the  request 
was  one  with  which  he  was  quite  willing  to  comply. 
There  was  no  question,  he  thought,  of  Leith  May- 
bury's  readiness  to  offer  her  protegee  a  more  substan- 
tial encouragement  than  she  had  given  hitherto,  and, 
as  Flora  suggested,  she  was  the  person  who  best  could 
arrange  the  matter. 

Gray's  first  plan,  formed  on  reading  Flora's  letter, 
was  to  go  back  with  Kelly  to  Ledge,  and  proceed  by 
steamer  to  Zenith,  at  the  head  of  the  great  lake,  from 
which  point  he  could  communicate  with  Mrs.  May  bury 
by  wire ;  this  done,  he  might  return  to  Ledge,  and  the 
magic  reaches  of  the  Popple,  and  the  wild  waters  be- 
».  352 


THE    CAMP    ON    THE    POPPLE 

yond;  to  paddle  and  pack,  and  the  joys  of  the  un- 
known trail. 

But  on  the  second  reading  of  Miss  Matheson's  com- 
munication, he  wondered  whether  it  would  not  be  bet- 
ter to  go  on  to  the  city,  and  reason  personally  with  a 
headstrong  young  woman  who  talked  f  oolidily  of  im- 
muring herself  in  Swiftwater,  wasting  her  God-given 
genius  on  the  desert  air  of  a  remote  hamlet.  She  must 
be  made  to  see  how  selfish  and  absurd  was  such  a  de- 
cision :  she  owed  a  sacred  duty  to  her  art,  and  no  false 
pride,  no  trivial  scruples,  should  be  allowed  to  stand 
in  the  way  of  a  perfect  discharge  of  this  duty.  (Pre- 
cisely what  did  Flora  mean  by  "a  person  in  whom  you 
may  he  interested"?  A  woman's  italics  are  always 
puzzling.  They  may  possess  a  deep  import,  or  they 
may  be  mere  emotional  penstrokes,  signifying  noth- 
ing.) 

There  would  be  no  difficulty  about  money.  Miss 
Winston  would  acquiesce  if  the  matter  were  put  to  her 
properly,  as  it  would  be.  Her  friends  believed  in  her : 
she  must  be  brought  to  believe  in  herself.  (And  what 
did  Flora  mean  by  "You  can  take  that,  Churchill, 
with  a  grain  of  salt"  ?  Probably  nothing.  Analyzed, 
the  remark  failed  of  special  significance.  Who  would 
not  take  with  a  grain  of  salt  a  declaration  by  a  vital 

353 


THE    CHARLATANS 

young  woman,  still  in  her  teens,  of  aversion  for  the 
male  sex?) 

Was  he  in  love?  He  did  not  stop  to  debate  the  ques- 
tion, but  sprang  up  and  went  over  to  his  neighbor's 
camp-fire. 

"Is  there  a  boat  up  to-night,  Kelly  ?"  he  inquired. 

The  teamster  reflected.  "Let's  see,  the  Bradshaw 
is  due,  ain't  she?" 

"Don't  you  know?"  Gray's  tone  was  mildly  impa- 
tient. 

"Thursday  night — -that's  right,"  spoke  up  one  of 
the  cruisers,  who  was  paring  potatoes  for  the  evening 
meal.    "She'll  be  along  'bout  midnight." 

The  other  woodsman  volunteered  the  information 
that  there  would  not  be  another  boat  up  till  Monday. 

Gray  pulled  his  tent-stakes  with  the  haste  of  a  man 
who  fears  the  cooling  of  a  sudden  resolution.  Was  he 
in  love?  The  question  did  not  press,  but  time  did. 
He  had  a  scant  six  hours  to  cover  the  twenty  miles  to 
Ledge.  Ericsson's  heavy  team  required  twelve,  so 
rocky  was  the  road. 

He  put  a  change  of  clothing  and  some  small  articles 
into  his  pack-sack,  and  strapped  a  poncho  outside. 
The  tent,  blanket  and  supplies  were  stowed  under  the 
canoe,  against  the  threatening  shower.    One  of  the 

S54i 


THE    CAMP    ON    THE    POPPLE 

cruisers  lent  a  hand  to  the  camp-breaking,  and  Gray, 
abruptly  reminded  of  the  Lake  of  Dreams,  turned  to 
him  with  the  inquiry : 

"By  the  way,  did  you  ever  happen  on  a  pond  about 
two  miles  east  of  Loon  Lake?" 

"Guess  you  mean  Mud  Lake,  don't  you  ?"  the  other 
ventured. 

"It's  not  named  on  my  map.  Some  two  miles  long 
by  a  mile  wide.   Stream  runs  north  out  of  it." 

"Yes;  that's  Mud  Lake,"  said  the  woodsman  em- 
phatically. "Tamarack  clear  round  it,  and  the  water 
'd  make  a  dog  sick.  I've  struck  some  lonesome  holes, 
friend,  but  Mud  Lake's  the  damnedest  ditch  I  ever 
got  into." 

Gray  smiled.  "I  was  thinking  of  camping  there, 
but  I've  changed  my  mind.  Much  obliged  for  your 
assistance."  He  swung  his  pack  to  his  shoulders  and 
lighted  his  pipe. 

The  teamster  approached  with  a  lantern.  "Better 
take  this  along,"  he  said.  "If  the  shower  ketches  you 
on  Pine  Mountain  you'll  have  a  job  keepin'  the  trail. 
Goin'  to  leave  your  outfit  here?"  ^ 

"No.  I  want  you  to  haul  it  in  to-morrow  and  stow 
it  in  Ericsson's  barn.  I  may  be  back  in  a  fortnight. 
Good-by,  boys !" 

355 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Gray  waved  his  hand  and  set  off  at  a  four-mile 
pace;  and  Kelly,  looking  after,  remarked  to  his  com- 
panions : 

"Guess  that  letter  was  from  his  best  girl,  he's  in 
such  a  thunderin'  hurry  to  answer  it." 


356 


CHAPTER  XXX 


THE   LANTERN   BEAEER 


Beyond  the  river  the  trail  south  flung  uphill 
through  a  belt  of  pine,  debouching  on  a  burnt  plain 
brushed  with  second-growth  firs  and  poplars.  Here 
the  air,  lifeless  for  hours,  was  beginning  to  stir  again. 
The  poplar  leaves,  tireless  friskers,  first  responded, 
and  presently  set  a  mad  pace  for  the  lower  herbage. 
The  blue  of  the  sky  was  slowly  blotted  out.  A  rain- 
drop plashed  against  the  cheek  of  the  young  man 
striding  over  the  plain. 

Past  the  burning  the  path  pitched  down  through 
another  zone  of  dense  forest,  to  the  foot  of  Pine  Moun- 
tain. There  was  scarcely  enoiigh  light  in  this  green 
gorge  to  mark  the  rocks  that  strewed  it,  and  Gray 

357 


THE    CHARLATANS 

lighted  the  lantern.  Instantly  nature  took  up  the 
feeble  challenge:  a  white  flash  rent  the  gloom,  the 
thunder  called  to  the  hills,  and  the  clouds  opened. 

The  Lantern  Bearer  unstrapped  his  poncho  and  put 
it  about  his  shoulders.  By  the  time  he  reached  the 
lane's  end  and  emerged  into  the  open  the  rain  was  fall- 
ing steadily  in  thick  slanting  rods.  A  brook  which 
crossed  the  road,  remembered  as  a  stream  of  uncom- 
mon limpidness,  was  already  roiled  and  foam-flecked. 
Darkness  had  closed  in,  and  the  lantern  proved  indis- 
pensable.  Its  light  was  small,  but  it  was  steady. 

Up  the  grassy  slope  of  Pine  Mountain,  long  since 
swept  bare  of  heavy  timber  by  forest  fires,  only  wheel- 
tracks  marked  the  way.  The  ridge  seemed  again 
ablaze.  Sheets  of  flame  defined  weirdly  the  crest  of 
the  acclivity,  and  the  brief  intervals  between  the  thun- 
der-claps were  filled  with  the  crashing  of  dead  pines, 
brought  to  earth  at  last.  Only  the  stoutest  of  the 
sapless  boles  could  stand  against  this  gale.  Gray, 
fighting  his  way  up  the  last  pitch,  was  beaten  to  his 
knees  again  and  again,  and  finally  forced  to  crouch 
against  a  giant  boulder  on  the  summit.  He  was 
drenched,  spent  in  wind  and  muscle;  yet  it  was  good 
to  be  abroad  on  such  a  night.  Exultant,  he  rose  from 
a  position  he  felt  to  be  abject,  but  he  could  not  stand 

35S 


THELANTfiRN     BEARER 

against  the  wind  and  water  that  swept  the  boulder's 
top. 

Each  electrical  discharge  disclosed,  for  a  vivid  in- 
stant, the  circling  solitude  —  beaten  shrubs  and 
grasses ;  groves  of  poplars  bending  low,  as  one  tree, 
before  the  gusts;  blackened  skeletons  of  pines,  a 
ghostly  company.  One  magnificent  flash  showed  a 
lake  three  miles  away,  and  the  lone  spectator  on  the 
hilltop,  half-stunned  by  the  appalling  explosions, 
found  himself  watching  eagerly  for  another  flash  to 
match  it.  But  the  best  was  past ;  the  Jovian  artillery 
swept  north;  the  wind  fell,  and  the  deluge  dwindled 
to  a  patter.  Gray  resumed  his  journey. 

In  the  deep  forest  beyond  Pine  Mountain  the  trail 
was  easy  to  keep,  and  his  mind  was  free  to  consider 
the  adventure  on  which  he  was  embarked. 

Was  he  in  love?  The  matter  wore  that  face,  he  con- 
fessed; yet  he  withheld  the  "Yea."  It  had  all  come 
upon  him  so  suddenly.  Flora's  letter  had  not  only 
disturbed  his  woodland  peace,  but  promised  to  disturb 
his  still  more  treasured  peace  of  mind.  This  had  meant 
much  to  him  in  the  past,  and  should  be  preserved  at 
all  hazards.  After  all,  he  told  himself,  it  would  be  no 
great  matter  if  he  missed  the  up  boat ;  he  could  take 
a  steamer  down  the  lake  the  following  day,  and  drop 

359 


THE    CHARLATANS 

off  at  the  first  telegraph  station,  somewhere  in  Canada. 
Unconsciously  his  pace  slackened. 

Lighter  grew  the  way  through  the  wood ;  the  moon 
was  up.  Though  no  breeze  stirred,  the  air  was  cool 
and  sweet,  and  grateful  forest  odors  issued  from  the 
dripping  shadows.  Somewhere  a  white- throated  spar- 
row piped  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving  for  the  passing  of 
the  deluge.  An  owl  flew  up  on  noiseless  wing  and  es- 
tablished a  footing  farther  on,  only  to  be  put  to  flight 
again  by  the  strange  shape  that  walked  the  trail. 

The  Lantern  Bearer  halted  for  a  breathing  spell  at 
the  foot  of  the  last  ridge  to  be  ascended,  in  a  natural 
meadow  through  which  a  small  stream  coursed.  Save 
for  the  brawling  of  this  upstart  pluvial  torrent,  the 
serenity  of  the  summer  night  was  undisturbed.  In- 
finite peace  brooded  over  the  wild. 

The  hush  was  prelude  to  another  convulsion  of  na- 
ture, though  of  quite  a  different  sort.  The  young 
man  stretched  upon  the  bridge  of  corduroy,  smoking 
a  long-deferred  pipe,  suddenly  sprang  up,  adjusted 
his  pack-sack  on  his  shoulders,  and  began  rapidly  to 
climb  the  ridge. 

Chill  and  discomfort  vanished  from  his  rain-soaked 
clothing;  weariness  fell  away  from  him;  his  pack, 
originally  light,  became  imponderable  as  ether;  the 

860 


THE     LANT^TrN     bearer 

roots  that  grew  across  the  trail  essayed  in  vain  to 
snare  his  flying  feet.  The  air  was  his  element :  he  was 
in  love !  At  last  he  knew  it ! 

He  was  in  love !  And  the  most  important  thing  in 
the  world  was  to  get  to  Ledge  in  time  to  catch  the 
steamer.  Ledge  was  ninety-odd  miles  from  the  rail- 
way, and  there  would  not  be  another  boat  up  for  four 
days.  But  he  should  not  miss  the  Bradshaw.  The  old 
tub  never  pretended  to  arrive  anywhere  on  time,  and 
was  commonly  hours  late.     .     .     . 

A  distant  hoot  pricked  him,  as  spur  a  jaded  horse. 
Damn  the  Bradshaw!  Was  she  punctual  for  the  first 
time  in  her  spiritless  life?  .  .  .  No;  it  was  an 
owl,  striking  terror  to  the  heart  of  some  wretched 
mouse  or  rabbit.  He  breathed  easier — ^figuratively; 
actually  he  was  breathing  hard.  For  even  a  young 
man  who  has  been  suddenly  overwhelmed  by  the  dis- 
covery that  he  loves  a  young  woman,  and  whose  first 
subsequent  desire,  thought  and  purpose  is  to  bridge 
the  hours  and  miles  that  separate  them, — even  such  a 
one  can  not  run  uphill,  over  a  rough  road,  for  any 
considerable  time.  Love  is  long,  maybe — but  breath 
is  short,  and  muscles  tire.  The  gods  are  dead  that  once 
annihilated  time  and  space  to  make  two  lovers  happy. 

On  another  occasion  our  Lantern  Bearer  would  have 
S6l 


THE    CHARLATANS 

found  the  stretch  of  timber  through  which  he  was 
hasting  an  enchanted  wood.  The  moon,  full-circled, 
was  up  the  sky,  flushing  the  forest  way  with  pure 
white  light,  and  every  bend  in  the  trail  disclosed  a 
picture  of  uncommon  beauty:  flanking  columns  of 
spruces  magnificently  plumed  and  silver  birches  of 
prodigious  girth — a  single  subject,  but  in  composi- 
tion infinitely  varied.  The  moonlight  shimmered  on 
the  rainpools,  and  picked  out  from  the  wayside  green 
the  showy  blossoms  of  the  bunchberry.  The  scent  of 
twinflower,  which  carpeted  the  virgin  woodland,  floated 
in  the  air.    A  night  and  scene  to  match  a  lover's  mood. 

An  accepted  lover's — yes;  not  the  mood  of  one 
whose  love  is  as  yet  untold,  and  whose  mind  is  in  a 
tumult. 

How  to  declare  his  passion  (a  task  beset  with  diffi- 
culties of  his  own  erecting),  how  to  reconcile  it  with 
words  and  actions  past — this  did  not  cry  for  immedi- 
ate consideration.  The  matter  of  prime  importance 
was  to  catch  the  Bradshaw,  That  lost,  four  days 
would  be  lost.  Four  days!  Ninety-six  hours!  Eter- 
nity! 

The  summit  of  the  ridge  at  last.  He  drew  a  deep 
breath.  He  was  in  time.  The  little  fishing  hamlet  of 
Ledge  was  still  five  miles  away,  but  he  could  see  the 

S62 


THE     LANTEiaN     BEARER 

whole  of  the  moonlit  bay,  and  ten  miles  of  the  dark, 
deserted  shore-line  to  the  east.  No  steamer  light  was 
visible. 

The  last  descent  was  plain  sailing,  over  a  fair 
wagon  road,  and  for  the  most  of  the  way  the  great 
lake  was  in  view.  Distant,  its  bosom  seemed  unruf- 
fled; but  as  Gray  wound  down  the  hill  an  ominous 
sound  was  borne  up  to  him — the  booming  of  the  surf. 
The  southwest  storm  had  raised  a  heavy  sea,  too 
heavy,  perhaps,  to  launch  a  boat  in.  There  was  no 
harborage  at  Ledge.  In  ordinary  weather  the  steam- 
ers lay  to  within  half  a  mile  of  the  shore,  and  skiffs 
put  out  to  take  off  passengers  and  supplies.  In 
heavy  weather  communication  was  suspended. 

Familiar  with  these  facts.  Gray  apprehended  that 
the  Bradshaw  would  pass  Ledge  by  without  a  whistle ; 
but  if  he  could  get  a  boat  out  the  captain  would  stop 
and  pick  him  up.  Time  pressed  now  in  earnest.  At 
any  moment  the  steamer's  light  might  flash  off  the 
headland  to  the  east,  and  she  would  hold  her  course, 
more  than  a  mile  from  shore. 

The  village  was  sound  asleep.  Even  the  house  of 
Ericsson,  whose  business  it  was  to  meet  the  steamers, 
was  dark.  A  glance  at  the  lake  disclosed  the  sufficient 
reason.  A  tremendous  sea  was  pounding  on  the  rocky 


THE    CHARLATANS 

shore.  No  communication  with  the  Bradshaw  was  pur- 
posed. 

The  Lantern  Bearer  battered  at  Ericsson's  door, 
wondering  whether  even  so  loud  a  summons  would  be 
heard  above  the  roar  of  the  surf.  Eventually  it  was. 
A  woman's  voice  answered  him  from  an  upper  window. 
No;  Mr.  Ericsson  was  not  at  home;  he  had  "gone  into 
the  woods"  for  a  day  or  two.  Perhaps  Gus  Jansen 
would  take  Mr.  Gray  out  to  the  steamer.  But  was  not 
the  lake  too  rough.?  Mr,  Jansen's  place .^^  It  was  the 
first  above  the  school-house. 

Gray  thanked  the  woman,  and  as  he  turned  away 
he  saw  the  Bradshaw^s  light.  She  was  perhaps  ten 
miles  distant  and  standing  well  out.  He  ran  down  to 
the  shore  and  cast  loose  one  of  the  skiffs  huddled  in 
a  lagoon  at  the  mouth  of  a  creek. 

A  shower  of  spray  flew  over  him.  He  straightened 
up,  and  for  a  full  minute  looked  the  adventure  in  the 
face.  Could  he  get  through  the  breakers?  And  be- 
yond— could  he  drive  the  skiff  a  mile  or  more  through 
such  a  sea?  Dare  he  venture  it?  .  .  .  Pooh!  On 
such  a  night  Leander  swam  the  Hellespont  and 
drowned  for  love. 

He  sprang  into  the  shallow  lagoon,  lashed  the  lan- 
tern to  the  skiff's  stern-thwart,  and  advanced  to  the 

364> 


THE     LANTE-RN     BEARER 

line  of  the  surf.  When  the  biggest  roller  broke  he 
pushed  his  cockle-shell  into  the  smother  and  scrambled 
aboard. 

The  sedate  old  Bradshaw  was  forging  a  slow  but 
steady  way  through  the  tumbling  southwest  sea.  She 
rolled  a  great  deal,  to  the  discomfort  of  her  passen- 
gers, many  of  whom,  despite  the  hour,  preferred  the 
deck  to  cabin  or  state-room.  The  chatty  revenue  of- 
ficer was  remarking  to  a  young  woman  in  a  golf  cape 
that  it  is  indeed  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good : 
thanks  to  the  gale  the  Bradshaw^s  passengers  would 
reach  the  head  of  the  lake  several  hours  ahead  of 
time,  as  no  attempts  would  be  made  to  touch  at  the 
fishing  villages  and  lumber  camps  along  the  shore. 

The  young  woman  wondered  how  the  captain  could 
know  where  he  was  at  a  given  time,  the  coast  was  so 
monotonously  indistinguishable. 

"His  watch  tells  him,"  explained  the  officer,  glanc- 
ing at  his  own.  "We  are  passing  Ledge  now.  That 
lift  in  the  shore-line  is  the  high  land  back  of  the  vil- 
lage. A  very  pretty  place  by  day." 

"What  is  that  light  ahead,  bobbing  up  and  down  ?" 
the  young  woman  asked.  "It's  gone  now.  There  it 
comes  again !" 

S65 


THE    CHARLATANS 

The  revenue  officer  looked.  "There  is  a  light,  sure 
enough."  He  turned  to  a  silent  man  who  stood  by  the 
wheel-house  window :  "Who's  fool  enough  to  put  out 
to-night,  Ole.?" 

The  mate,  who  had  seen  the  light  some  minutes  be- 
fore, reached  for  the  whistle  cord  and  blew  a  long 
blast. 

"He's  got  his  nerve  with  him,  whoever  he  is,"  pur- 
sued the  revenue  officer.  "It  must  be  Gus  Jansen. 
He's  a  daring  old  Norwegian,  and  will  take  any 
chance." 

"The  Viking  spirit  still  lives!"  the  young  woman 
exclaimed  romantically. 

"Starboard!"  said  the  mate,  and  rang  the  engine 
bell. 

As  the  Bradshaw  bore  down  on  the  Viking  craft, 
the  position  of  her  master  was  seen  to  be  precarious. 
With  one  desperate  oar  he  was  holding  her  nose  up 
to  the  sea,  and  was  bailing  with  his  free  hand.  The 
skiff  was  on  the  verge  of  swamping. 

"That  isn't  Jansen,"  said  the  revenue  man.  "Come 
below.  Miss,  and  watch  the  landing." 

A  line  made  fast  forward  of  the  steamer  was  flung 
to  the  adventurer.  He  caught  it,  and  the  skiff  swung 
in.  Two  deck-hands  leaned  over  the  aft  gangway  rail, 

366 


THE     LANTE-RN     BEARER 

and  when  the  Bradshaw  rolled  down  they  reached  for 
our  Lantern  Bearer. 

Clinging  to  his  pack-sack,  he  came  aboard  flying, 
and  landed  limply  on  the  deck,  where  he  lay  still,  eyes 
closed.  The  young  woman  in  the  golf  cape,  observ- 
ing his  complete  exhaustion,  bent  over  him  sympathet- 
ically. He  was,  unexpectedly,  a  youthful  Viking,  and 
very  good  to  look  upon. 

He  opened  his  eyes,  and  regarded  her  wonderingly. 
And  thinking  of  another  face,  he  smiled. 


367 


CHAPTER     XXXI 


THE      I.OVE      QUEST 


Every  berth  aboard  the  Bradshaw  being  occupied, 
Gray,  rolled  in  a  blanket,  couched  on  the  cabin  floor, 
while  his  wardrobe  dried  in  the  engine-room.  The  lake 
flattened  out  by  sunrise,  and  the  steamer  held  a 
straight  course  for  Zenith,  establishing  an  infrequent 
connection  with  the  noon  train  for  the  metropolis. 

Thanks  to  the  luxurious  appointments  of  this  train. 
Gray  was  able  to  make  himself  and  his  garments  pre- 
sentable again.  His  left  arm  hung  limp,  transiently 
disabled  from  his  battle  with  the  lake  waves ;  and,  to 
his  eye,  coach' and  passengers  and  country-side  were 
curiously  unstable — ^he  still  felt  himself  pitching  on 
whitecapped  waters.    Otherwise  the  adventure  had  no 

ill  effect. 

368 


THE     LOVE     QUEST 

He  bought  a  magazine  and  tried  to  read  a  short 
story,  but  he  could  not  keep  his  mind  upon  the  page. 
When  one  is  living  a  love  story,  how  attenuated  seem 
the  creations  of  the  weavers  of  tales !  So  he  tossed 
the  magazine  away  and  paced  the  buffet  coach,  smok- 
ing pipe  after  pipe,  and  wondering  why  it  took  so 
long  to  change  engines,  and  to  take  water,  and  to  get 
under  way  after  leaving  a  station.  He  had  his  berth 
made  up  unusually  early,  that  he  might  sleep  as  many 
hours  away  as  possible^ — and  then  lay  awake  past 
midnight. 

The  noon  hour  was  again  striking  when  he  reached 
the  city.  He  hailed  a  cab,  but,  reflecting  that  that  was 
too  slow  for  the  long  stretch  to  Atwood  Street,  he 
looked  around  for  an  automobile.  None  being  avail- 
able, he  compromised  on  a  trolley  car. 

Then  he  wished  he  had  chosen  the  cab.  The  car 
track  appeared  obstructed  more  than  commonly  with 
grocer  carts  and  drays,  the  drivers  of  which  were  ex- 
asperatingly  deliberate  in  turning  out.  Once  before  a 
certain  stretch  of  the  way  had  seemed  interminable — 
that  night,  the  autumn  past,  when  he  and  Hope  had 
ridden  out  in  awkward  silence,  relieved  by  the  young 
woman's  touching  the  conductor's  arm  and  saying: 
"Atwood  Street,  please."    He  recalled  the  little  trem- 

369 


THE    CHARLATANS 

ble  in  her  voice,  the  red  spot  in  cheek,  the  flash  in  eye. 
But  her  resentment  proved  transient;  he  had  exhib- 
ited a  proper  repentance,  and  had  been  forgiven.  If 
the  meetings  that  followed  were  infrequent,  he  had 
himself  to  blame :  always  she  had  seemed  to  take  pleas- 
ure in  his  company.  On  one  occasion — in  the  park — 
he  fancied  he  read  in  her  eyes  something  more  than 
friendship;  and  he  felt  himself  slipping  from  the  se- 
curity of  self -elimination ;  but  it  was  only  a  passing 
peril.  Their  relations,  it  is  true,  were  not  materially 
altered;  nor  had  the  argument  that  Miss  Winston 
should  sacrifice  everything  to  her  art  lost  any  of  its 
original  force.  He  was  prepared  still  to  urge  it — if 
taxed  with  inconsistency ;  or,  in  certain  circumstances, 
to  recant.  This  was  a  problem  the  solution  of  which 
might  best  be  left  to  the  inspiration  of  propinquity. 
The  present  time  was  more  profitably  employed  in 
re-creating  the  image  of  the  young  woman,  in  antici- 
pating her  surprise  at  his  appearance,  the  pressure  of 
her  hand,  a  hoped-for  look  in  her  eyes  that  should  tell 
him  he  was  more  than  welcome.  He  rode  the  last  block 
to  Atwood  Street  on  the  car  step,  debarked  without 
waiting  for  a  slow-down,  and  walked  rapidly  to 
No.  69. 

Mrs.  Grady  answered  the  bell.  At  the  mention  of 
370 


THE     LCrVE     QUEST 

Miss  Winston's  name  her  face  lighted  up,  only  to 
cloud  again.  The  young  lady  no  longer  abided  with 
her;  nor  could  she  say  or  remember  whither  she  had 
removed.  But  Madame  Jesurin  would  know,  and  if 
the  gentleman  would  step  up  stairs  Madame  would  be 
in  shortly. 

Gray  hesitated.  Flora  would  know  her  friend's  ad- 
dress ;  but,  then.  Flora  might  not  be  at  home     . 

"Thank  you;  I  will  wait  a  few  minutes,"  he  said, 
and  followed  up  stairs. 

Mrs.  Grady's  kitchen  was  also  her  reception-hall 
and  dining-room ;  and  as  she  was  preparing  her  lunch- 
eon when  the  door-bell  rang,  a  cup  of  tea  was  hospi- 
tably suggested  to  the  visitor.  While  the  kettle  sang, 
Mrs.  Grady,  occultly  apprised  that  she  had  a  sympa- 
thetic audience,  launched  upon  an  appreciation  of  her 
late  tenant.  Such  a  beautiful  young  lady ! — so  sweet- 
natured,  so  entirely  lovable.  (Affirmative  nods  from 
the  visitor. )  'Twas  a  sad  day  when  she  departed ;  an 
especially  sad  day  for  Patrick,  the  fetcher  of  coals, 
who,  deprived  of  his  guardian  angel,  had  fallen  from 
grace  after  months  of  sobriety. 

Encouraged  by  interrogations  markedly  casual, 
Mrs.  Grady  rendered  a  faithful  account  of  Miss  Wins- 
ton's life  at  No.  69.    The  two  little  rooms  were  just 

371 


THE    CHARLATANS 

as  she  left  them :  perhaps  Mr.  Gray  would  like  to  peep 
in.  He  exhibited  an  interest  more  than  polite. 

In  this  tiny  apartment  Miss  Winston  had  conducted 
her  housekeeping.  And  a  smart  little  cook  she  was, 
too — a  point  Mrs.  Grady  thought  worthy  of  emphasis. 
In  this  larger  room  Miss  Winston  had  lived  and 
worked.  Mrs.  Grady  was  thoughtfully  silent  while 
the  young  man  surveyed  the  blessed  domicile.  Then 
she  was  suddenly  reminded  of  a  handkerchief  which 
Miss  Winston  had  gone  away  without.  As  Mr.  Gray 
was  to  see  the  young  lady  that  day,  he  might  take  the 
"thrifle"  along  with  him.  The  readiness  with  which 
he  accepted  the  square  of  linen  bordered  on  grati- 
tude. ' 

"WirMich,  wirMich  Sle,  Mr.  Gray!" 

Madame  Jesurin  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"What  a  pleasure!  How  well  you  are  looking!" 
she  continued.  "Nature  is  such  a  restorer.  The  woods, 
I  love  them!  But  why  do  you  come  back  to  the  hot 
city  so  soon.?" 

He  replied  that  he  had  returned  on  a  matter  of 
business. 

"Mr.  Gray  is  wantin'  to  know  Miss  Hope's  prisint 
addhress,"  Mrs.  Grady  explained,  with  a  twinkling 
eye. 

872 


THE     LOVE     QUEST 

**Ac1i,  she  has  left  the  city !"  cried  Madame.  "She 
is  at  her  home  in  Clearwater — or  is  it  Swiftwater?" 

Alas,  it  was  only  too  true ;  Hope  had  departed  the 
afternoon  before;  Madame  was  so  informed  by  Ar- 
thur West,  whom  she  had  chanced  upon  an  hour  ago. 
Gray's  disappointment  was  mirrored  in  his  face ;  Mrs. 
Grady's  was  vocal. 

"Come,  now,  and  have  the  cup  of  tay,"  she  adjured 
the  young  man ;  "  'twill  cheer  ye  up." 

He  laughed,  perforce,  and  the  women  with  him; 
and  the  three  went  into  the  kitchen. 

While  the  tea  was  sipped,  the  exhaustless  topic  of 
Miss  Winston  was  pursued.  Madame  Jesurin  recalled 
the  October  day  when,  in  a  railway  carriage,  she  first 
met  Princess  Hope,  and  instantly  was  attracted  to 
her — as  who  was  not.?  Mrs.  Grady,  for  her  part,  re- 
vived memories  of  Hope's  first  appearance  in  her  hum- 
ble flat,  and  of  the  appetizing  luncheon  to  which  the 
young  woman  had  invited  her  and  Madame.  "Sure,  I 
niver  expected  to  take  tay  with  a  Princess,"  Mrs. 
Grady  declared. 

Observing  their  guest's  mystification,  Madame  Jes- 
urin laughed  softly.  Perhaps  Mr.  Gray  had  never 
heard  about  the  Prince  and  the  Chariot?  He  con- 
fessed  ignorance;   whereupon   he   was    informed   of 

372 


THE    CHARLATANS 

Alice  Winston's  childish  fancy,  and  was  deeply  Inter- 
ested therein. 

"Ye  have  the  handkerchief?"  Mrs.  Grady  whis- 
pered, when  he  took  his  leave. 

He  assured  her  that  it  was  quite  safe  in  his 
pocket. 

"  'Tis  fine  weather  for  a  thrip  to  the  country,"  she 
observed,  with  a  benedictory  smile.  "Good  luck  to  ye, 
Mr.  Gray." 

He  went  down  the  stairs  feeling  rather  foolish,  and 
baselessly  happy. 

With  the  return  of  his  little  fortune,  increased 
fourfold  by  the  lucky  turn  in  young  Matheson's 
speculation,  Gray  had  shifted  his  residence  to  a  more 
desirable  section  of  the  city.  To  these  apartments  he 
now  repaired  in  a  cab,  and  made  preparations  against 
a  flying  trip  to  Swiftwater.  Then  he  telephoned  to 
Mrs.  Maybury  to  say  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  con- 
sult with  her  in  a  certain  matter. 

The  certain  matter,  he  discovered,  had  already  been 
disposed  of,  so  far  as  Mrs.  Maybury  could  do  so. 
That  morning  she  had  answered  a  farewell  letter 
from  Hope,  urging  the  girl  to  return  to  the  city,  after 
a  brief  visit  home,  and  had  offered  to  finance  her  mu- 
sical career. 

374 


THE     LOVE     QUEST 

"If  persuasion  Is  needed,  Churchill,  I  leave  it  to 
you,"  Mrs.  Maybury  said,  smiling. 

"My  skill  in  that  line  is  small,"  he  said. 

"It  will  suffice  in  this  case,  I  think,"  she  returned 
significantly. 

He  rode  away  in  some  perplexity.  Like  Mrs.  Grady 
and  Madame  Jesurin,  Mrs.  Maybury  seemed  without 
reason  to  take  an  extremely  doubtful  matter  for 
granted.  But  women,  he  philosophized,  will  help 
along,  with  a  smile  or  a  word  of  encouragement,  the 
most  promising  or  most  desperate  affair :  this  side  the 
altar  no  cause  is  counted  lost. 

In  his  accumulated  mail  at  the  Post  office.  Gray 
found  a  brief  note  from  Hope.  She  was  going  home, 
she  wrote,  and  did  not  expect  to  return  to  the  city. 
She  wished  to  thank  him  for  his  many  kindnesses 
(some  of  which  she  had  recently  learned  of  through 
accident) :  for  the  opportunity  to  hear  much  beauti- 
ful music;  for  the  picture  of  Brahms,  which  she 
should  always  prize ;  and  for  his  enlightening  counsel, 
the  wisdom  of  which  she  had  come,  somewhat  tardily, 
perhaps,  to  appreciate.  He  had  been  one  of  her  good 
influences.     .     .     , 

It  was  the  first  note  he  had  ever  received  from  her, 
and  it  gave  him  a  curious  thrill.    After  a  futile  at- 

375 


THE    CHARLATANS 

tempt  to  analyze  the  sensation,  he  read  and  thrilled 
again. 

Alice  Winston  popping  into  his  head,  he  instructed 
the  cabman  to  drive  to  a  book-store,  where  he  pur- 
chased the  Blue  Fairy  Book,  and  the  Green,  and  the 
Red,  and  all  the  other  colors.  The  child  should  not 
lack  entertainment  the  coming  winter. 

As  the  first  available  train  for  Swiftwater  did  not 
leave  for  two  hours,  he  decided  to  look  up  Flora 
Matheson  and  Karl  Geist.  The  former,  he  learned, 
was  out  of  the  city ;  the  latter  had  departed  from  be- 
neath the  roof  of  the  Colossus,  and  had  set  up  an  es- 
tablishment of  his  own. 

Geist  greeted  his  friend  gravely  and  without  sur- 
prise. The  effects  of  the  ordeal  were  visible  in  the  mu- 
sician's face.  He  seemed  much  older;  his  boyishness 
had  flown.  His  pupils  being  at  present  few,  there  was 
opportunity  for  a  talk,  and  Gray  learned  the  "some- 
thing back  of  it  all"  which  was  not  included  in  the 
sum  of  Flora's  information,  and  which  explained  Prin- 
cess Hope's  "intense  aversion  for  the  male  sex." 

"Her  sentiments  are  natural  enough,"  said  Geist; 
"but  I  fancy  that  the  right  man  could  modify  them — 
in  time." 

Gray  mentioned,  somewhat  hastily,  that  Mrs.  May- 
376 


THE     LOfE     QUEST 

bury  had  written  to  Miss  Winston,  adding:  "I  am 
going  to  Swiftwater  to  persuade  her  to  accept  the 
offer." 

Geist  nodded.  "That  matter  will  take  care  of  it- 
self.   You  would  better  sing  her  another  tune." 

The  other  colored.  Somehow,  unwarranted  infer- 
ences by  one  of  his  own  sex  were  embarrassing. 

"Shall  you  return  to  the  woods  after  you  have  per- 
suaded Miss  Winston  to  accept  Mrs.  Maybury's  of- 
fer?" Geist  asked,  with  a  flicker  of  a  smile. 

"I  think  so — ^yes,"  said  Gray. 

"Is  your  suggestion,  that  I  join  you,  still  in  force?" 

"In  full  force  and  effect.  Will  you  come  ?" 

Geist  laughed,  in  his  old  manner.  "Ye-es — if  you 
decide  to  go,"  he  replied. 


377 


'       CHAPTER     XXXII 

IN       WHICH       THE       PRINCE       COMES 

"May  It  please  your  royal  highness,  it  is  now  about 
fifty  years  since  I  heard  from  my  father,  who  heard 
my  grandfather  say,  that  there  was  in  this  castle  a 
princess,  the  most  beautiful  ever  seen;  that  she  must 
sleep  there  a  hundred  years,  and  should  be  waked 
by  a  ki/ng*s  son,  for  whom  she  was  reserved." 

The  young  Prince  was  all  on  fire  at  these  words,  be- 
lieving, without  weighing  the  matter,  that  he  could 
put  an  end  to  this  rare  adventure;  and,  pushed  on  by 
love  and  honor,  resolved  that  moment  to  look  into  it. 

They  order  things  so  briskly  in  the  tales  of  old 
time.    There  was  never  prince  that  weighed  the  mat- 

378 


IN     WHICH     THE     PRINCE     COMES 

ter,  or  doubted  the  surrender  of  the  lady,  once  the 
physical  barriers  between  them  had  been  swept  away. 
Pushed  on  by  love  and  honor,  and  mounted  on  a  mira- 
cle of  horseflesh,  the  least  of  heroes  sets  a  pace  which 
the  most  impetuous  lover  in  our  day  can  not  match. 

Churchill  Gray  checked  the  weary  livery  horse  upon 
a  water-bar,  and  looked  into  the  valley  of  the  Mad 
River.  It  was  timbered  much  the  same  as  his  own 
north  country,  and  surely  no  stream  could  be  more 
attractive  than  the  brown  Httle  river  that  raced  below 
him  in  the  sunlight.  This  was  her  river;  she  had 
spoken  of  it  to  him  more  than  once;  her  feet  had 
helped  to  wear  the  path  on  the  farther  bank.  Perhaps 
if  he  lingered  he  should  see  her  tripping  by.  But 
lingering  was  foe  to  his  impatience.  The  roofs  of 
Swiftwater  were  in  sight.  He  urged  forward  the  re- 
luctant horse. 

Mother  Winston  was  putting  up  preserves  when 
the  strange  gentleman  tapped  at  the  kitchen  door. 
Hastily  wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron,  she  bade  him 
enter,  slightly  disconcerted  by  the  keenly-inquiring 
look  he  bent  upon  her. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Winston,  I  know,"  he  said,  putting 
out  his  hand.  "My  name  is  Gray.  Your  daughter 
may  have  spoken  of  me." 

379 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Oh,  yes;  many  times — in  her  letters."  The  little 
mother  scrutinized  him  closely  in  her  turn.  "You 
drove  over  from  Vanceburg?" 

"Yes ;  and  found  it  a  most  delightful  drive.  May  I 
put  my  horse  in  the  bam?" 

The  hired  man  was  summoned  to  attend  to  this. 

"You  will  stay  with  us  to-night,  of  course.?"  said 
Mrs.  Winston. 

"Thank  you.  I  believe  there  are  no  more  trains  un- 
til to-morrow." 

Gray  looked  up  quickly  as  a  door  opened. 

"This  is  Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Winston,  as  a  serious- 
faced  child  came  into  the  room. 

"Won't  you  shake  hands,  Alice.''"  said  the  visitor. 

She  did  so  gravely,  looking  at  him  earnestly  with 
big  brown  eyes. 

"Hope  is  somewhere  about,"  said  the  mother. 
"Alice  will  find  her." 

"Sister  has  gone  up  the  river,"  said  the  child,  ad- 
dressing Gray.  "I  will  show  you  the  way." 

"Mr.  Gray  may  not  wish  to  walk  so  far,"  said  Mrs. 
Winston. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  should  enjoy  it,"  he  declared. 
Then,  in  explanation  of  his  appearance  in  Swift- 
water:    "I  came  up  to  see  your  husband,  Mrs.  Wins- 

380 


IN     WHICH     THEr    PRINCE     COMES 

ton,  on  a  matter  affecting  your  daughter's  future — 
her  music,"  he  added,  more  explicitly. 

The  little  mother  sighed.  "Hope  has  not  opened 
the  piano,  or  mentioned  music,  since  coming  home. 
She  feels  badly,  I  am  afraid,  because  she  can  not  go 
on  with  her  studies." 

"She  was  a  little  hasty,  I  think,  in  giving  up  be- 
cause her  funds  were  exhausted.  The  question  of 
money  is  really  a  simple  matter,  in  the  case  of  so  great 
a  talent  as  your  daughter  possesses." 

"It  does  not  seem  simple  to  us — and  Hope  is  very 
proud.     ...     I  suppose  she  plays  very  well  now." 

"Very  well,  indeed.  There  will  be  no  difficulty,  I 
hope,  when  the  matter  is  considered  in  the  right  light." 
Gray  rose.  "But  we  will  all  talk  the  matter  over  fully 
after  we  find  the  young  lady.  Shall  we  set  out, 
Alice.?" 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  replied  the  child ;  and  the  pair 
quested  forth. 

The  way  led  through  sweet-smelling  meadows  bor- 
dering the  little  river,  to  a  spot  where  the  vale  ab- 
ruptly narrowed,  and  the  greenwood  shut  the  stream 
from  view. 

As  they  walked  along  Gray  became  conscious  that 
the  little  lady  at  his  side  was  studying  him  intently. 

381 


THE    CHARLATANS 

He  turned  his  eyes  suddenly  upon  her,  surprising 
forth  the  question  topmost  in  her  mind : 

"Are  you  the  Prince?" 

"I  hope  so,  my  dear,"  he  answered,  with  a  gravity 
to  match  her  own.  "But  I  did  not  bring  my  purple 
chariot;  it  was  such  a  great  distance.  And  they 
didn't  have  anything  of  the  sort  at  Vanceburg, 
though  I  inquired  everywhere." 

"Did  you  come  from  way,  way  off,  where  sister 
was  ?" 

"Yes;  from  way,  way  off;  from  a  big  kingdom, 
where  there  are  so  many  people,  you  never  could  count 
them." 

"Is  it  at  the  end  of  the  track.?" 

"The  end  of  the  track.?  Oh,  yes ;  the  railway  stops 
there.  Some  day,  little  one,  you  too  will  make  a  jour- 
ney to  the  kingdom." 

Alice  shook  her  head,  "I  must  stay  at  home  and 
help  mother." 

"But  mother  will  go,  too.  Sister  will  want  you  all 
to  come  and  hear  her  play,  in  a  great  hall  where  there 
are  thousands  of  people.  There  isn't  anything  like 
that  in  the  fairy  tales,  is  there?" 

"No,"  replied  Alice,  on  reflection.  "Sister  says  they 
didn't  have  pianos  once  upon  a  time.    But  they  had 

382 


IN     WHICH     THE^^PRINCE      COMES 

fiddles  a  hundred  years  before  once  upon  a  time,  didn't 
they?  Do  you  know  the  one  about  the  Sleeping  Beauty 
in  the  Wood?" 

"Yes.  The  Princess  slept  a  hundred  years  or  so, 
and  the  court  musicians  with  her;  and  when  they  all 
woke  up  the  violins  and  the  hautboys  played  tunes 
that  sounded  very  old-fashioned  to  the  Prince  who 
broke  the  enchantment,  but  excellent  tunes,  for  all 
that.  You  see,  I  remember  the  story  very  well,  for  I 
was  reading  it  only  to-day." 

Alice  looked  up  in  surprise.  *'Do  you  read  fairy 
books,  too?" 

"Not  as  a  general  thing.  The  story  happened  to  be 
in  one  of  a  great  many  books  which  I  was  bringing 
to  a  little  girl  who  looks  very  much  like  you,  and  who 
has  a  bow  of  black  ribbon  over  each  ear.  If  you  look 
very  carefully  in  the  back  of  my  chariot  you  may  find 
them." 

They  had  left  the  meadow  and  were  entering  the 
wood. 

"I  think  I  will  go  back  now,"  Alice  said  abruptly. 
^'Perhaps  you  will  meet  sister  coming  home.  There  is 
only  one  road  through  the  trees." 

"I'll  manage  it  somehow,"  Gray  smilingly  assured 
her. 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"Did  you  say  they  were  in  the  chariot?"  asked  the 
child,  her  eyes  dancing. 

"A  stout  package,  marked  *AHce.'  You  can't  miss 
it." 

"Thank  you.  Prince,"  she  said,  and  hurried  off,  her 
ribbon  bows  bobbing  up  and  down.  Gray,  feeHng 
very  youthful  himself,  continued  with  a  singing  heart 
along  the  woodland  way. 

There  was,  as  Alice  said,  but  one  road  through 
the  trees.  This  clung  to  the  little  river,  crossing  it 
by  a  fallen  tree  every  little  way,  until,  the  valley 
dwindling  to  a  narrow  pass,  it  vanished  in  a  maze  of 
alders,  from  behind  which  came  the  sound  of  water 
falling  in  a  pool.  The  path,  if  it  went  farther,  must 
be  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream.  He  recalled  what 
had  seemed  to  be  a  crossing  only  a  little  distance 
back. 

Peering  through  the  green  tangle,  he  marked  the 
silver  arc  of  a  cascade;  and  apprised  by  the  beating 
of  his  heart  that  his  quest  was  at  an  end,  he  decided 
to  attempt  a  passage  through  the  alders.  These  were 
so  thickly  set  that,  clinging  to  the  wall  of  the  pass, 
one  might  find  footing  on  their  branches.  He  ad- 
vanced cautiously,  for  the  stream  below  was  of  un- 
known depth.   Suddenly  he  descried  above  his  head  a 

384 


IN     WHICH     TH^     PRINCE     COMES 

solitary  strawberry,  pendent  from  a  crevice  in  the 
cliff. 

He  reached  for  it,  but  his  grasp  fell  short.  He 
reached  again — and  slipped  from  the  bridge  of  alders, 
dropping  knee-deep  in  river  water.  But  he  had  the 
strawberry. 


385 


CHAPTER     XXXIII 

A  ND    THE    SLEEPING    BEAUTY  AWAKENS 

And  now,  as  the  enchantment  mas  at  an  end,  the     ^ 
Princess  awakened,  and  looking'  on  him  with  eyes  more 
tender  than  the  first  view  might  seem  to  admit  of:  "/s 
it  you,  my  Frince^^  she  said  to  him.    ^'You  have 
waited  a  long  while." 

Princess  Hope  sat  up  and  rubbed  her  eyes.  Had 
she  really  seen  a  face  among  the  alders  on  the  thither 
side  of  the  pool?  Or  was  it  only  a  part  of  her  day- 
dream, no  more  real  than  the  voices  of  flutes  and  horns 
and  violins,  floating  up  from  the  river? 

How  far  away  now  seemed  her  brief  existence  in  the 
world  beyond  her  valley! — more  remote  than  it  had 

386 


SLEEPING     BEAUTY    AWAKENS 

seemed  a  year  ago.  We  may  speak  of  the  "near  fu- 
ture," but  the  past  is  never  nearer  than  "Yesterday's 
sev'n  thousand  years." 

She  thought  of  her  former  friends  as  of  the  people 
of  another  planet  that  she  had  been  privileged  to  visit 
overnight.  And  distance  softened  the  hardest  out- 
lines, the  most  unlovely  traits.  Once  she  had  voted 
Madame  Jesurin  a  bore ;  now  she  remembered  only  her 
kindness  of  heart,  her  real  affection,  her  innocent  en- 
thusiasms, her  unfailing  good  nature.  She  hoped 
Madame  would  have  many  new  language  students,  and 
would  not  have  to  economize  so  painfully  as  in  the 
past.  Probably  she  would  lose  one  of  her  best-paying 
patrons,  Arthur  West.  Poor  dear  Arthur!  he  would 
get  over  his  disappointment  in  time,  and  he  would  al- 
ways remember  her  kindly,  she  felt  certain. 

Flora  and  Mr.  Jones  would  be  married  in  October, 
and  no  doubt  would  live  happily  ever  afterward.  She 
had  been  greatly  surprised  when  she  learned  of  Flora's 
choice,  but  she  could  see  now  that  the  pair  were  well 
mated.  Ten  years  hence,  if  she  should  by  any  chance 
revisit  the  glimpses  of  the  city  moon,  she  would  find 
Stanley  and  Flora  a  sedate  and  doting  couple,  sur- 
rounded by  an  interesting  family. 

We  are  all,  beloved  reader, — with  whom  I  must  soon 
387 


THE    CHARLATANS 

part, — ^we  are  all,  in  a  way,  dreamers  of  "plots," 
given,  when  the  mood  is  on,  to  continuing  the  life 
stories  of  men  and  women  we  have  known.  Likely  we 
shall  not  set  eyes  on  them  again,  nor  hear  aught  con- 
cerning them,  so  our  fancy  is  unhampered.  Some  of 
the  stories  we  know  will  run  smoothly  to  the  end; 
others,  we  foresee,  will  be  tempestuous,  and  we  think 
we  could  point  out  the  particular  rock  on  which  a  par- 
ticular matrimonial  bark  will  split.  It  is  harmless  di- 
version, this  sort  of  story-weaving — provided  that  we 
keep  the  matter  to  ourselves. 

Princess  Hope  looked  closely  at  the  alders  again. 
They  were  visibly  agitated,  and  not  by  wind  or  cur- 
rent. Presently  she  heard  a  splash,  and  a  smothered 
exclamation.  A  young  man  floundered  through  the 
greenery,  and,  seeing  her,  waved  a  dripping  hat. 

She  sprang  up  and  called  to  him  excitedly:  "You 
must  go  back — and  around!" — pointing  to  the  cas- 
cade. 

Impossible,  wildly  impossible  suggestion!  He 
splashed  through  the  pool,  waist-deep,  his  eyes  on  her 
face,  and  he  laughed  gaily  when  she  took  his  hand 
and  helped  him  up  the  bank,  commiserating  him  on 
his  plight. 

"The  cause  of  my  undoing,  and  now  itself  undone," 
388 


^ 


..^.- 


He  splashed  through  the  pool,  his  eyes  on  her  face      Page  j88 


SLEEPING     BEAUTY     AWAKENS 

he  said,  exhibiting  the  strawberry,  crushed  against 
his  palm.   "Will  you  still  accept  it?" 

Hope  put  the  tiny  fruit  to  her  mouth.  Berry,  lips 
and  cheeks  were  of  one  color. 

They  sat  together  on  the  log  of  a  dead  cedar, 
brought  down  by  some  spring  freshet, 

"Confess,"  he  said,  "that  I  was  the  very  last  person 
in  the  world  that  you  thought  to  see." 

"You  were  last  in  my  thoughts,"  she  answered 
tremulously.  "But  I  pictured  you  in  another  valley, 
by  wilder  waters.  Did  you  find  the  I^ke  of  Dreams.?" 

"I  have  come  to  seek  it  here." 

Her  heart  leaped  to  the  message  which  the  speech 
conveyed. 

"But — ^how  should  you  know  I  was  here?  I  came 
only  two  days  ago." 

"So  our  mutual  friend,  Madame  Jesurin,  informed 
me." 

"You  have  been  to  the  city  ?" 

For  answer  he  drew  forth  the  handkerchief  which 
Mrs.  Grady  had  intrusted  to  him — ^laughing  and  hold- 
ing it  beyond  her  reach  when,  scarlet-faced,  she  put 
out  a  hand  for  it.  Then,  to  allay  her  confusion ;  "You 
got  Mrs.  Maybury's  letter?" 

"This  morning." 

389 


THE    CHARLATANS 

"I  followed  to  urge  a  favorable  consideration,"  he 
solemnly  answered. 

"Why  did  you  return  to  the  city?"  she  persisted. 

"A  letter  from  Flora,  advising  me  that  the  cause  of 
music  was  in  danger." 

"You  gave  up  your  beloved  wilderness,  and  jour- 
neyed a  thousand  miles,  to  urge     .     .     .  " 

"Dear,  I  came  because  I  love  you." 

Her  eyes  had  compelled  the  avowal.  Now,  the  sud- 
den tears  that  brimmed  them,  the  trembling  hand 
placed  in  his,  betokened  a  love  of  no  new  birth. 

"I  have  wanted  you  so  long,"  she  whispered,  when 
his  arms  were  round  her;  "longer,  much  longer,  than 
you  have  wanted  me." 

This  he  denied,  with  all  a  lover's  assurance,  and  the 
question  of  the  antecedence  of  respective  passions  was 
debated,  as  it  has  been  debated  since  time  was  young. 

"I  have  wanted  you  more  than  music,  Churchill^" 
she  confessed.  "I  vowed  allegiance  to  music,  and 
played  the  traitor." 

He  kissed  her  eyes  and  hair.  "We  are  traitors  both, 
beloved." 

"Dear,"  she  said,  laying  her  cheek  to  his,  "I  have 
never  heard  any  music — not  a  note.  It  will  be  all  so 
new,  so  wonderfully  beautiful." 

390 


SLEEPING     BETaUTY     AWAKENS 

They  planned  the  future  while  the  shadows  length- 
ened and  the  rose-light  gathered  above  the  valley.  All 
at  once  she  was  greatly  concerned  about  the  possible 
effect  of  the  wetting  he  had  received.  But  he  scouted 
the  notion,  and  told  her  of  a  better  wetting  two  nights 
before. 

Boy  and  girl,  they  scrambled  up  the  cascade's  ter- 
race, and  footed,  hand  in  hand,  the  woodland  way. 
And  the  little  river  that  ran  beside  them  laughed  for 
very  joy — the  little  river  of  many  moods  and  many, 
many  voices. 


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